


Eyes on the Prize

by poetanddidntknowit34



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: I'll add tags as we go, M/M, Sci Fi Heist, mature themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2020-04-24 11:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 61,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19172137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetanddidntknowit34/pseuds/poetanddidntknowit34
Summary: Ex-lovers and Criminals-for-Hire Curt Mega and Owen Carvour haven't seen each other for three years. When they run into each other at a bar, they hook up once more, and immediately brand it as a mistake and vow to never see each other again. That is, until the next morning when they learn they've both been hired for the same job. Tatiana, Owen, Cynthia, Barb, and Curt have been contracted by a mysterious backer to rob Richard Big's Casino on Eos, the vacation resort on Mars. As they struggle to pull off the heist of the millennium, they race against time, feelings, and ulterior motives. To come out alive, they'll need to learn to trust each other again, and keep their eyes on the prize.





	1. Dry Spell

Nightfall in the city very rarely signaled a slow in activity. Neon lights illuminated the metal faces of Clockworks as they clomped past restaurants and bars on the way to their docking stations, taxis sped through the streets and blared their horns, and homeless children played tricks on tourists in the hopes of lifting a watch or a wallet. Outside the Silver Bullet Bar, a Clockwork slowed and shuddered to a stop, frozen mid-step. A gang of teenagers began to kick it, trying to topple the giant android, before a policeman chased them off.

Curt Mega sat inside at the bar, sipping a whiskey and watching as the policeman used his taser to recharge the Clockwork. It nodded stiffly, then continued on its journey home. Curt returned his attention to the other patrons in the bar. There were a lot more women than men that night, and the few men that were around didn’t seem too interested in him. Pity. He finished his whiskey in one swallow and noticed a young woman staring at him from her spot down the bar top. She was thin with short, blond hair and an angular face and was studying him in a way that would clearly communicate her intentions: she wanted him to talk to her. To buy her a drink. To take her home.

Curt shook his head at her, trying to signal that he wasn’t interested. The woman frowned, then stood and walked over to a different man, placing a hand seductively on his shoulder. Whatever.

Curt sighed and ordered another whiskey. It was 9PM on a Thursday night in London; the bars wouldn’t start to liven up until closer to 11, and Curt wasn’t sure if he wanted to wait that long. He was restless. It had been months since he’d gotten laid, and the thought alone made him chafe. Curt Mega doesn’t have dry spells. Curt Mega plays to win.

He considered giving up, taking the loss, and walking back to corner where he’d seen a Red Door Inn advertising low rates. Curt wasn’t above paying for sex; he’d done it a lot in the early days after his Ex had left—craving the touch but not the intimacy. But the Surrogates never compare to the real thing. And besides—Curt liked the hunt as much as he did the kill.

He slammed the remainder his second whiskey and waved his wrist over the PayPlate in front of him. A soft beep sounded from the Plate as it read his chip. Then, green numbers hovered over the Plate, turning swiftly into a checkmark to confirm that his €25.83 purchase was confirmed. He muttered a complaint about rising prices of booze under his breath before looking at the clock on the wall. 9:15PM. Fucking pitiful.

Curt stood to leave but stopped as he saw another man enter the bar. Tall, dark haired, and a little lost-looking. Just Curt’s type. Curt caught his eye and raised an eye brow. The man smiled back.

Game on.

Curt gestured to the seat next to him and waved the bartender over. “What’s your poison?” Curt asked, putting a hand on the other man’s lower back as he sat down. The man jumped slightly at the forwardness of Curt’s gesture, but then he relaxed and leaned into it.

“I’ll have a beer.” The man said.

“He’ll have a Manhattan.” Curt corrected. “And I’ll have another whiskey. All on my tab.” Curt nodded to the PayPlate as the bartender re-opened the tab.

“I’ve never had a Manhattan.” The man remarked, his English accent thick. “I’m Paul, by the way.”

“Jason.” Curt lied, using the name on his current chip. “And you’re welcome.” The bartender set their drinks on the counter, and Curt pushed the Manhattan towards Paul, never breaking eye contact.

“So.” Paul said, taking a tentative sip from his glass and wincing as it burned the back of his throat. “You’re an American?”

“Born and raised.” Curt said, lifting the glass to his mouth and taking a large sip.

“What brings you to London?”

“Business.” Curt said, tempted to lean in closer, but reigning himself in.

“What kind of business?” Paul took a larger sip of the Manhattan and started to relax as the alcohol sunk in.

“I’m an art dealer.” It was only a partial lie. Curt had spent the last week robbing a stock broker’s art gallery for the man’s ex-fiancé. She was a fiery woman, who loved art and hated him for cheating with her sister. He cheated on her, she hired a mercenary to rob him blind. C’est la vie.

“How long have you been doing that?”

“Not long.” Also not a lie.

“That sounds cool.” Paul said. “I’m in finance.”

Curt absolutely did not give a shit. “That sounds interesting.” That one was a lie. “So what brings you out on a Thursday night?” Curt asked.

Paul swallowed nervously, and Curt could tell that he was making the decision as to whether or not Curt was his objective or not. “Just looking for some company.”

Curt nodded, pretending to think about that. “And have you found it?” Curt moved his hand to rest lightly just above Paul’s knee. Then he squeezed his thigh.

Paul’s breath hitched, and his eyes darkened. “I hope so.”

Bingo.

“Good.” He waved his chip over the PayPlate, barely registering the green checkmark as he flushed another €20 away. “My hotel is just up the street.” He stood up from the bar and watched as Paul did the same.

“I’ve never been with an American before.” Paul said, then turned red. “I don’t know why I said that.”

Curt held open the door to the bar, putting a hand on Paul’s lower back again, guiding him in the direction of the hotel. “Oh.” Curt purred, leaning in close to whisper in Paul’s ear. “Your first Manhattan drink, and your first Manhattan man. I’m honored.” He dug his fingers into Paul’s hip. The other man yelped. “Hopefully you’ll like both.”

\-----

The two men crashed through the door of Curt’s hotel room, kissing each other deeply and fumbling in the dark. Curt hit a light switch and kicked the door closed behind him, putting a hand on Paul’s chest and slamming him against the wall.

“Feisty.” Paul said.

“Quiet.” Curt ordered, attacking his neck and sucking on the pulse point below his jaw.

Paul wouldn’t listen, though. He reached down and ran a hand along Curt’s thigh, feeling the bulge near his hip. “Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just excited?”

It actually was a gun, but Paul didn’t need to know that. “All you, honey.” Curt would say anything at this point to get Paul on his knees. He grabbed onto the waistband of the other man’s jeans and tugged.

Paul dug his fingers into Curt’s shoulders, and Curt tried to contain a growl. It had been months. Fucking finally.

A soft _thwick_ sounded in the room, and a blue tranquilizer dart lodged into Paul’s neck; right in the spot Curt had been sucking on only moments before. Curt jumped back, pulling his gun while Paul sank down the wall and passed out on the floor, the tang of urine filling the air as he did.

Curt whirled around, taking aim at his assailant. Once he saw who it was, though, he lowered the gun again. “Fuck you, Tatiana.” He said, tossing the gun on the bed and flipping Tatiana his middle finger. He gently pulled the dart out of Paul’s neck, throwing it in the trash. “My balls are bluer than that fucking tranq dart, and it’s your fault.”

Tatiana Slohzno was seated in the armchair in the corner of the room, her legs crossed and a bored look on her face. She shrugged, putting the tranquilizer gun on the table next to her. “You will live.” She said lazily, a smirk playing on her lips.

“How did you find me?” Curt asked, searching the room for bugs.

“I didn’t bug your room.” She said, gesturing at the other armchair. “Sit, Curt. Please.” Tatiana tossed him a tiny bottle of vodka.

“Did you raid my minibar?” Curt asked, catching the drink and watching as Tatiana opened one for herself. “These things cost a fortune!”

“Word on the street is that you just finished a $50,000 heist. You can afford a $30 minibar charge.” She drank the bottle in one shot.

Curt sighed and sank down into the armchair across the room. “How did you find me, Tati?”

“I used to be a KGB agent, Curt. I can find anyone.” She smiled, her red lipstick shining in a menacing way.

“So, what do you want?” Against his better judgement, he opened the bottle of vodka and took a long drink, the alcohol burning on the way down.

“I have a job. I’m putting together a team.”

Curt shook his head. “I told you. I don’t do team jobs anymore. Not after the Paris heist.” Curt had watched his partner plummet 500 feet down the Eiffel Tower before being saved last minute by an anti-grav gun and a cranky Tatiana. That wasn’t the reason he stopped doing team jobs, though. It was because, shortly after the heist, his partner, Owen, had walked out and ended their 4-year relationship. “I work alone now.”

Tatiana rolled her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic, Curt.” She lounged back in the chair, spinning her hand lazily in the air. “You want this job. I promise.”

Curt stared at her silently. Then, he said, “What’s the job?”

“I can’t tell you that until the briefing.” She pulled an envelope out of her pocket and laid it on the table. “Briefing is Saturday morning in Florida. Here’s your plane ticket.”

“Who’s the crew?”

“I can’t tell you until the briefing.”

Curt sighed, running a hand over his face. “Can you at least tell me the pay?”

“Six million US. Each.”

It was silent in the room for a beat, then Curt whistled. “Fuck.”

“It’s the biggest job any of us have done.” Tatiana sat forward, putting her elbows on her knees and locking eyes with Curt. “And it’ll take a team to pull it off. So, if you want to get paid, you’ll need to play nice with others.”

Curt didn’t respond, just stared Tatiana down. After a moment, Tatiana stood. “Don’t miss your flight, Curt.” She began to walk out of the room.

“Wait, what am I supposed to do with him?” He gestured at Paul.

Tatiana shrugged. “Not my circus, not my bears.” She started to leave again, stepping over Paul and opening the door.

“It’s ‘monkeys’!” Curt called out.

“Not in Russia!” She shot back as she walked out the door.

“You tranqued him! How is this not your bear?” Curt said. But the door snapped shut, and Tatiana was gone.

Curt sighed and crossed the room, picking up the envelope. Inside, there was an American passport and a ticket for a 9AM flight to Orlando. “Fuckin hell, Tati.” Curt said, running a hand through his hair and downing the rest of the vodka.

On the floor near the door, Paul began to stir. “What happened?” He asked, sitting up.

“You fainted and pissed yourself.” Curt said, crossing his arms.

Paul’s face flushed red with shame. “I did?”

“Yes, now please get out. I’m not in the mood anymore.”

Paul looking like he wanted to argue or demand more of an explanation, but one withering look from Curt sent him out the door, head down and shoes squelching in shame.

Once he was alone, Curt sat on the bed, staring at the plane ticket and drinking from a water bottle. Images of he and Owen’s jobs flashed through his mind—the kidnapping in Italy, the face-swap in California, the heist in Paris. Cracking the hardest puzzles. Running from danger side-by-side. Watching Owen fall to his death…

Curt shook his head and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. The man staring back at him was harder than he had been three years ago. “Maybe this time will be different.” Curt said.

Then, he started to pack.


	2. Wheels Up

Curt stared at the flight departure board in front of him, frowning deeply. He hated flying. The technology required for air travel hadn’t been updated since the 2030s, and it was slowly becoming antiquated. Curt looked to his left and glared at the sign marked “Tele-Commuters” and watched as people who only needed to hop over to Paris for a few hours or pick something up in Milan confidently and easily went through the security check-point. The second TeleCorp perfected the art and science of teleporting more than 1,000 miles at one time, planes and pilots alike will lose their jobs. Thank god.

For now, though, Curt was stuck flying. He double-checked the board and cross-referenced it with his ticket. His flight was on time, unfortunately. Part of him hoped for a cancelled flight or for one of the planes to lose an engine, as they were want to do. Then, it wouldn’t be his fault that he didn’t make it to Orlando. Just a happy accident.

But no. Today was a rare day that nothing was going wrong in the airport. So, Curt sighed and picked up his bag, walking towards his gate. The airport side of Heathrow was nearly empty—the only people who flew anymore were the ones who needed to cross the ocean, and apparently, early morning flights to America weren’t popular.

He sat down at his gate; his flight was scheduled to leave in just over an hour, and so far, the only other people at his gate was a family of four and a nervous-looking elderly woman. Flights in and out of America only landed at John Souser International in New York City and John Souser West International in Los Angeles. Back in the early to mid-21st Century, JSI had been known as John F Kennedy International, but once the other airports in the US retired their planes, they had renamed both JFK and LAX after Souser, the CEO of TeleCorp. Shortly after that, airports around the globe converted to TeleSpots, and all the planes were left to rust. Well, almost all of them.

Curt pulled out his phone, tapping the screen of the iPhone 5k to check the time. Eight o’clock. He sighed and dug in his jacket pockets, looking for his nicotine gum. Instead, he found a stick of regular gum and rolled his eyes. Tatiana had a bad habit of stealing his stuff and replacing it with shittier versions. Still, he needed something to chew, so he popped a stick of spearmint.

“First time flying?” A voice asked, and Curt looked up. The man standing in front of him was short and mousy and had a withering smile on his face.

“No, why?” Curt wasn’t in the mood to make friends.

“You look nervous.”

“I fly all the time. I just hate it.” Curt said, then picked up a mag’zine from the end table next to him and opened the metal flaps. The mag’zine flickered on and displayed it’s programmed options: Women’s Digest, Vogue, and Elle. Great... Curt chose one and pretended to read.

“The name’s Edward.” The man said, sticking out a hand. “It’s my first time flying. But I’m confident I’ll be a natural at it.”

Curt flicked his eyes up to Edward briefly, then back to the mag’zine. He ignored the handshake. “You feel confident now but wait until we go wheels up and you’re jostling along above the ocean.” Edward’s smile wavered. He opened his mouth to say something, and Curt cut him off. “Please exorcise your nervous energy elsewhere. I’m not your friend or your ally.” He continued to stare at the mag’zine until Edward shuffled away to sit next to the elderly woman. They made a great, high-strung pair.

Curt folded the mag’zine back up and dropped it on the end table with a _thunk_. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose; only forty-five minutes until they departed, and eight hours until they arrived. He fingered the Narcolight bottle in his pocket; at least he wouldn’t be conscious for those eight hours.

The sound of his phone ringing made him jump. He checked his watch, and a small holograph of his mother waved at him in a loop. He clamped a hand down on the watch to silence the notification, then answered the phone. “Hey, Ma.”

“Don’t you ‘hey, ma’ me, Curtis.” She started scolding him immediately. “Two weeks and not a single returned phone call. What kind of mother have I been to deserve this?”

Curt rolled his eyes. “I told you. I was headed to London on a work trip and wouldn’t have access to my phone for a while.”

“I’m your _mother_ , Curtis. I don’t count.” Curt could hear her shaking her spatula at him.

“Ma, it’s like 3AM in New York. Why are you awake?”

“There’s a squirrel in my attic and it makes it hard to sleep.”

“Wait, wha--”

“Nevermind, the squirrel!” Mom Mega said, then launched into a new topic of conversation. “Greg down at the corner store is single again. I told him that you’re still looking for a nice man to settle down with.”

Curt put his head in his free hand. “Ma, please stop telling Greg things about me.”

“He’s a nice boy, Curtis.”

They’d hooked up once in high school. Curt had been drunk and Greg had thought Curt was The One. Now, they awkwardly nod at each other on the street and never speak.

“Ma, please.”

He heard Mom Mega huff on the other line. “Well, then pick _someone_. I need grandbabies and neither of us are getting any younger.” Curt rolled his eyes. “And don’t roll your eyes at me, mister. I’m your mother.” How did she always know? “Why don’t you get back together with Owen?” She suggested. “I liked Owen. He always reminded you to call me.”

Curt had liked Owen, too. But that was a long-gone hope; that dream died the night Owen left him. “Mom, I asked you not to talk about Owen.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “I know, schmoo. I’m sorry. I just know how happy you were with him.”

“I’m happy now.” He said. It wasn’t a complete lie. He’d be a lot happier today if Paul had worked out last night.

“No, Curtis. You’re content. There’s a difference.”

A soft _ding_ sounded in the airport. _“Flight 672 to John Souser International will begin boarding in ten minutes.”_ A friendly female voice chirped. _“All passengers, please make your way to the gate.”_

“I need to go, Ma.” Curt said. “I love you, and I’ll come visit soon. I’m about to get a big bonus at work, and I’ll come take you on a vacation. A _proper_ vacation.”

“I love you, too, Curtis. Call me more.” And she hung up.

Curt slid his phone back into his jacket pocket and picked up his bag, slinging it onto his shoulder and going over to stand in line. After the boarding call, more passengers started to filter into the boarding area. Most looked only half awake, and Curt watched as a young couple embraced and said goodbye. He dropped his eyes and looked at his passport again.

Frank Anders. That was the name Tatiana had chosen for him to get him from London to Orlando. She no doubt had another identity waiting for him to use during the heist. The thought alone made his wrist hurt, and he rubbed the spot where his chip was embedded.

The night before, he’d had to scramble the chip and replace Jason’s identity with Frank’s. Changing the scan on an IdentiChip doesn’t hurt when it’s done officially. But Curt’s shitty hotel bathroom was far from an official government building, so it had been painful.

To change the identity on his chip, Curt had had to move his money to several different accounts, then use a black-market scrambler to wipe the chip. Scramblers were the fastest way to reset an IdentiChip, but they hurt like a bitch. Curt had placed the equivalent of a taser against the joint in his right wrist and punched the countertop as electricity surged through his arm. And in the time between the scrambling and re-coding, Curt had been a man with no name.

Now, he waved his wrist over the scanner at the door to the gangway and held his breath. He hadn’t tested the chip before leaving that morning. _Frank Anders_ popped up on the screen, and the woman checking people in smiled and punched his ticket. “Enjoy your flight, Mr. Anders.” She said warmly.

“Thanks.” Curt nodded, and boarded the plane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not a lot happens in this one--we had to do a little more world-building. The next chapter is very plot-specific!


	3. Oasis

John Souser International was a shit show. Per usual. Curt blinked at the bright fluorescents as he stepped off of the jet bridge and into the airport; the Narcolight was still draining from his system, and he rolled his neck and blinked back the biting headache that often comes from emerging too quickly from N-Sleep. This was why doctors don’t recommend using Narcolight for non-medical reasons. But fuck doctors. There was no way he was going to be awake for an 8-hour flight.

The airport side of JSI is frequented more often than that of JSI West, but its upkeep was pitifully low. Chairs were broken and several of the lights were out. If Curt hadn’t been a professional criminal, he’d fear being murdered right here while the indifferent airport staff watched. Near the front of the terminal, people were lined up at the customer service desk, arguing about where their luggage was. “There’s only one damn plane, how can you lose the luggage?” Someone shouted. A terrified flight attendant looked like she might cry at any moment as she tried to help the passengers.

Curt rolled his eyes and was grateful that he hadn’t checked a bag. He turned his phone back on and saw three new messages from his mom.

_Curtis, the squirrel is out of the attic. -Mom_

_Curtis, the squirrel is now in the living room. -Mom_

_Curtis, do squirrels bite? -Mom_

Curt stared at his phone in disbelief. _Call an exterminator!_ He typed out, then hit ‘send’ and checked the time. 11AM. It was going to be a long day.

The next leg of the journey was an easier one: a quick teleport from New York to Raleigh, then Raleigh to Orlando. His Raleigh Port left in twenty minutes, then he would have 30 minutes to get to his next TeleSpot to Orlando. In less than one hour, he would be at his destination. Teleportation was truly the only way to travel.

Curt emerged from the airport side of JSI and steeled himself. The Tele-Commute side was far busier and more crowded. The buzz of activity gave Curt’s still-fuzzy brain a headache, and he pulled a bottle of Tylenol out of the same pocket that held the Narcolight. A little acetaminophen went a long way in neutralizing the effects of sleep-aid, and Curt popped three before taking a sip from a nearby water fountain and swallowing.

He followed the signs for his TeleSpot and found the correct gate for his Raleigh jump. He had a few minutes to kill before loading, so he took a seat near the Spot and waited. Kids were playing and laughing as they darted around the chairs, and Curt watched as exhausted parents tried to corral them. A group of teens on a school trip were chatting excitedly; Curt could tell this was their first long distant jump without their parents.

Before long, a voice over the loud speaker announced that it was time to start loading the Spot. Curt filtered through the line, flashing his ticket briefly at the Porter as he moved through the gate and stood within the confines of a bright yellow circle.

_“Please stay within the yellow circle.”_ A chipper voice announced. _“Failure to do so could result in splicing and subsequent death.”_

Curt gripped his bag tightly to his chest, shuffling over to give the families around him more room. When the large group of people were packed tightly into the circle, the Porter picked up a microphone and said, “Welcome to the 11:20 Tele-Commute to Raleigh. Please keep a firm grip on your belongings and do not hold on to any person around you. When the countdown reaches ‘one’, please shut your eyes and hold your breath. Failure to do so could result in splicing and subsequent death. Thank you and enjoy your trip.”

A large screen above the Porter lit up and a glowing red countdown started from ten. Curt watched the numbers tick down, and when they hit ‘one’, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. A loud hum split the air, he felt his body stretch like taffy, and then he was standing in Raleigh, North Carolina.

\----

After checking into his hotel in Orlando, Curt promptly took a nap. He was exhausted from flying, and the last of the adrenaline from teleporting was wearing off; he crashed onto the bed and into a deep sleep. When he awoke several hours later, it was dark out and he was starving. Curt pressed a button on the keypad next to his bed and a small screen illuminated. He pressed the button for room service and chose a sandwich and a can of soda, then laid back against the comforter.

He’d been having a dream about his most recent boyfriend; a short fling in Paris a year ago. They hadn’t been in love, but rather, it had been mutual convenience that had kept them together for four months. The company had been affable, and the sex had been phenomenal. But now, in the glow of downtown Orlando filtering into his window, Curt ached to be touched. His cock strained against his jeans and an angry heat pooled in his stomach. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, grunting in frustration at the thought of having to take care of his erection alone, yet again.

He stood up from the bed and answered the knock at the door, accepting his sandwich from the RoboServer in the hallway. Then, as he tore into the mediocre dinner, he decided that, if he was going to focus in the briefing tomorrow, his dry spell had to end tonight.

\----

Orlando was as loud and bright at night as it was during the day. As Curt walked through downtown, he marveled at the neon lights and loud people that danced through the streets. London had a gritty, pessimistic nightlife. Orlando, on the other hand, was loud and proud.

Curt watched a group of men stagger past, hanging on to each other’s shoulders, laughing, and jostling each other around. One of the men pushed another, and Curt had to side-step to avoid being knocked over. In doing so, though, he bumped into a Clockwork.

“Please refrain from jostling me.” The Clockwork said, it’s recorded voice flowing out of a speaker in its neck. “I cannot calibrate independently, and I will fall over.”

“Sorry.” Curt muttered, though he didn’t know why, and watched as it continued its way down the sidewalk, turning at the corner.

He continued down the sidewalk, passing restaurants and nightclubs and Red Door Inns until he spotted a bar that looked promising. Riker’s Bar had music pouring out whenever the door was opened, and a steady stream of people moved in and out of the bar. Curt smiled, and pulled the door open, squeezing inside.

The bar was crowded and loud; much more so than the bar in London had been. Curt scanned the patrons and smiled at how many there were. Men and women swarmed through the tiny space, bumping into each other and laughing drunkenly as they enjoyed their Friday night. Curt wandered over to the bar and waited, trying to catch the bartender’s eye. Meanwhile, a short man with a red beard smiled suggestively at him from a few seats over. Not his type. Curt shook his head and went back to trying to flag down the bartender. Finally, he managed to order a drink and swiped his wrist over a PayPlate before taking a lap around the bar while he sipped it.

So many people meant that he had a lot more options, and he intended to explore all of them. Two men in a booth nearby caught his eye and waved. One looked nervous and the other looked confident. A couple, no doubt, looking to spice up their relationship, and trying to do so with Curt. He took a step forward, considering the possibility, then decided he didn’t have the time for two tonight.

A woman near the door to the bar was suddenly standing on a table, yelling and laughing and spilling her martini down her front. She was wasted. Curt rolled his eyes and hoped her friends would collect her before she hurt herself.

He walked past the table, jumping out of the way as the woman came crashing down. She landed flat on her back on the table and started crying as her friends helped her back down to the floor. “You’re OK.” They promised, but drunk girls are far from doctors, and Curt wouldn’t be surprised if she had a concussion.

He kept walking, finishing up his drink and nearing the entrance again. No one in particular had caught his eye, and he briefly considered going back to talk to the couple. Then, he ran directly into the back of another man. Curt hadn’t been paying attention, so he practically shoved the guy as he smacked into his back, and he snapped out of reverie as his scotch glass slipped out of his hand and landed on the floor in a clatter.

“Ah shit, sorry.” Curt said, picking up the glass before finally looking up at the back he’d just pushed. The other man was tall, lean, and had dark hair and a promising ass.

Then, he turned around.

“Owen?” Curt said, startling and taking a step back.

Sure enough, it was Owen Carvour. He was a lot thinner than the last night Curt saw him, and his usually clean-shaven face had sprouted a scruffy beard. But it was Owen alright.

“Curt?” Owen said, equally as surprised. He asked something else, but Curt couldn’t hear him over the music and people in the bar.

“What?” Curt yelled, leaning in to hear better.

“Here.” Owen said, gesturing for Curt to follow him. He led them out of the bar and onto the street, the muggy night air of Orlando sticking to their lungs. A small breeze cut through the heat, and Curt breathed deep, trying to process his shock. “I can’t believe you’re here.” Owen said.

“Yeah, it’s been forever.”

“Three years.” Owen said, matter-of-factly. “You look good. Healthy.”

Curt nodded. “Thanks. You, too.”

There was an awkward silence, and Owen gestured towards the bar, smiling a little. “I see you’re still not watching where you’re walking.”

“Well, you know, your ass was always a major distraction.” The flirt fell subconsciously from Curt’s mouth, and he practically choked on the regret of saying it. Owen’s eyes looked sad.

The other man ignored the comment and stuck his hands in his pocket. “Should we get a drink? Somewhere quieter?” He looked up the street and pointed at a tall, grandiose building at the end of the block. “That’s my hotel. We could get a drink in the lounge?”

Curt hesitated, then said, “Sure.”

They walked in silence, hands in pockets and hyper-conscious of the space their arms and bodies were taking up in an attempt to avoid accidentally brushing up against each other. Curt watched a group of teens on the opposite side of the street, tossing a balled-up piece of trash back and forth and laughing. Further up the sidewalk, a young couple were kissing passionately, either intoxicated or in love.

Owen pulled open the door to the hotel and Curt walked inside, mumbling a ‘thank you’ as he slipped into the air-conditioned lobby. The lounge was to the right of the lobby, and Curt followed Owen in and watched as he walked over to a large round booth in the corner of the lounge. Curt hesitated for a moment, then slipped into the booth and sat awkwardly next to Owen. “This is a swanky place.” Curt said. Much better than the hell hole he was staying in.

“It’s nice, yes.” Owen said, waving the waiter over.

“What can I get you, gentlemen?” The waiter asked.

“I’ll have an old fashioned, and he’ll have a whiskey neat. Room 308 for the tab, please.” Owen said, and the waiter nodded, walking off to the bar.

“My favorite.” Curt remarked. “You remembered.”

Owen shrugged. “You were my first, Curt. I know everything about you.”

Curt flushed red. “Really?”

Owen looked at him like he was crazy. “Why does that surprise you?”

Curt shook his head. “Never mind. I was just surprised you remembered.”

Owen’s eyes softened. “I don’t hate you, Curt. I could never hate you.” The waiter returned just then and set the drinks down in front of them.

“Cheers.” Owen said. “To old friends.”

Curt clinked his glass against Owen’s and drank the whole thing in one swallow. Owen followed suit. Both needed courage for the night.

Owen set his empty glass back down on the table and waved at the bartender to bring another round. “So. What have you been up to?” Owen asked.

“Just finished a job in London.” Curt said. “Typical scorned fiancée. Easy 50,000 credits.” He waved a dismissive hand. “It’s just been mostly small, one-person jobs over the years. Get in, get out types.” He thanked the waiter as another whiskey was set in front of him. “What about you?”

Owen took a sip of his new drink. “Shortly after we broke up, I took a job on Venus. It was a dark matter heist. It went well, but I decided not to return with the rest of the crew. I stayed at the Athena colony for a few years and sold bombs. I just got back to Earth last week.”

“Oh. Wow.” Curt said. “You left the planet…”

“Yes.” Owen said. “I needed a fresh start.” He drained the rest of his drink.

“So what brings you back, then?” Curt asked.

“I’ve been contracted for a new job.” Owen said, but refused a third drink when the waiter raised an eyebrow in inquiry. The first two were settling thickly in his blood.

“What’s the job?”

Owen laughed. “Curt, you of all people should know that I can’t tell you that.”

Curt laughed now, too. The laughter loosened them up and broke down the awkward wall between them. Soon, they were chatting and reminiscing. They talked about the last three years, the four years before that, and the future after now. They drank and they got comfortable and they slipped into a rhythm old and long-lost.

Finally, Curt said, “Do you ever think about me? About us?”

The smile on Owen’s face faded and he stared down into his empty glass. “Yeah. A lot. You?”

“Yeah.” Curt said. “A lot.”

They were silent for a while. Then, Owen said. “But we can’t change the past.”

Curt ignored him. Instead, he leaned in close and paused, his lips only inches from Owen’s. He hesitated only a moment, then he closed the distance and kissed Owen. The kiss was tentative and short, Curt pulling away only moments after it had begun. He looked into Owen’s eyes for permission, and, upon finding it, he kissed him deeper.

Owen tangled a hand into Curt’s hair and pulled him desperately closer, their teeth clashing and Owen’s breath hitching. It had been so long. It had been too long.

“Upstairs.” Owen whispered, tugging Curt aggressively out of the booth.

They practically raced through the lobby, crashing into the elevator and smacking the “third floor” button. Once the doors closed again, Curt pulled Owen back to him, kissing him again and drinking deeply from the well of his ex-lover; Owen an oasis in Curt’s desert.

\-----

Fireworks were still sparking behind Curt’s eyes as he fell back against the pillows, panting hard and shivering in the after-shocks of his orgasm.

“Holy shit.” He breathed. “How did you know to do _that_?”

Owen collapsed next to him. “Personal history, Mega.” He tried to catch his breath, too. “It has its benefits.” He beamed at Curt and they began to laugh.

They curled up, limbs intertwined, and listened to the sounds of the city underneath the open window. Owen traced patterns into Curt’s arm, and Curt listened contently to Owen’s breathing. It was familiar and unknown and confusing enough to cut through the booze and make Curt’s heart race and his head spin.

After a long time, Curt said, “What does this mean?”

Owen stiffened and was silent for a while, then he said, “It doesn’t mean anything, Curt. You should know that.”

Curt sat up. “What do you mean it doesn’t mean anything?” He tried to hide the hurt on his face. It was easier to do in the dark.

Owen closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Curt, we’re going to go our separate ways in the morning. We’re still broken up. You can’t possibly expect that to change just because we got drunk and had sex.”

Curt frowned, suddenly angry. “Why not? You said yourself, you think about us a lot.”

Owen sat up now, too, starting to boil over himself. “Because, Curt, you were the one that didn’t want to be with me.” Owen clenched his fists. “You didn’t want me, so I left. I had to come to terms with the fact that I’d lost my best friend and my love. And it took a lot of fucking work, but I let you go, and I moved on. I suggest you do the same.”

“I never said I didn’t want to be with you.” Curt snapped, dredging up the old pain of the day Owen left.

“No.” Owen conceded calmly, his eyes growing hard and cold. “You just didn’t want to marry me.”

Curt didn’t have a response.

“I think you need to leave.” Owen said, standing up and picking up Curt’s t-shirt from the floor before throwing it in his face.

“Owen—”

“Get out!” Owen said much more forcefully. “This was a fucking mistake.” He stormed off to the bathroom and snapped the door shut.

Curt pulled his clothes on quickly and walked to the bathroom door. He placed a hand on it and said quietly, “I’m sorry, love.”

It was silent for a long time, the quiet crushing down on Curt. Then, a soft reply came from the other side of the door. “Don’t call me that.”

Curt felt each word permeate the wood of the door and sear into the palm of his hand. He yanked the appendage back and held it against his chest.

He didn’t bother to say goodbye as he stomped out of the hotel and back out onto the streets of Orlando. He turned back only once as he began to walk to his own hotel. Owen was standing on the balcony of his room, this time the one left watching the other walked out.

Curt turned away, and it began to rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I directly quoted from the fight my ex and I had recently. This is fine...


	4. Getting Started

Curt stared blankly at the continental breakfast in front of him. Runny eggs, cold bacon, and mushy toast. His hotel was ‘traditional’, in that they preferred to serve breakfast to their guests as part of their nightly rate. They probably shouldn’t.

Curt poked at the eggs with his fork and grimaced. There was no way this was food. He set the fork down again and ran a hand over his face. He’d stumbled back to his hotel around two in the morning, and then he’d screamed into his pillow in frustration and rage until he’d fallen into a fitful sleep, only to be awoken again at eight when his alarm went off.

Whatever this job was, it had better be worth it.

Curt pushed the melted breakfast away and stood up from the table, deciding to stop and get breakfast as he walked to the briefing. He had purposefully chosen a hotel only a few blocks from the coordinates Tatiana had given him because he hated taxis—they smelled terrible and the drivers always asked too many questions. He wished he could have lived in the days of Uber—he’d heard stories about the nice drivers and free waters, and he wanted that kind of luxury in his transportation. But, Uber had been an affiliate company of Apple since 2052, and once Apple bought out TeleCorp and began working on personal teleport technology, they shut down their ride shares to better allocate resources. Now, taxis cost a ridiculous amount, and were not any less shitty than they’d ever been. So, Curt preferred to walk.

He put his phone in airplane mode and put it in his jeans pocket as he stepped out into the streets, sliding his sunglasses on and breathing in the fresh air. Saturday morning was a stark contrast to Friday night; very few people were out wandering, and those that were out looked like they’d had nights equally as long as Curt’s. Hungover men and women in rumpled clothes trudged blearily up and down the sidewalks, looking like zombies and cleverly dodging the Technatics that were trying to shove pamphlets in their faces.

Curt watched a woman, heels in hand, expertly dip around a Techantic, but the spinning motion promptly made her vomit into a potted plant outside of a diner. Distracted by this, Curt didn’t see the Technatic that had materialized in front of him.

“Hi sir, do you have a moment to talk about Climos?” The young man was wearing a shiny suit of reflective fabric and had bright green eye shadow smeared across his face in intricate swirls.

“Uh, no thanks.” Curt said. He pushed past and kept walking.

“The end is near!” The Technatic shouted in a voice that had no business being so chipper. “Only the good new of Climos can save you!”

“I’ll take my chances!” Curt shot back. Fucking lunatics. Technatics believed in Climos, a god who lived in the core of the Earth and fed off of the radiation that technology put off. One day, he would break through the surface and devour anyone who was saturated in the radiation; hence the reflective clothes. Perhaps it’s people like Technatics where the phrase ‘god-awful’ comes from…

Curt continued walking down the sidewalk and stopped when he reached the corner. The meeting spot was only one more block away, but Curt was starving. Two coffeeshops stood on opposite sides of the street: a Starbucks and an iCoffee. The Starbucks loomed on his right, the giant green mermaid with mouse ears smiling at him in a sinister manner. Disney’s re-brand after purchasing the chain in the 80s was supposed to be whimsical. It wasn’t.

On the other side of the street, Apple’s iCoffee rivaled Disney’s Little Horror Mermaid, with its stark white exterior and a black silhouetted coffee cup logo. They should’ve left it as Dunkin’ Donuts instead of re-branding, leaving the cheerful pink and orange colors and waked out staff. But no. Patrons now get a side of existential dread with their shitty pastries.

 Curt hated both chains, but Starbucks had better muffins, so he veered right, and twenty minutes later, he was back out on the sidewalk, blueberry muffin and iced coffee in hand. It was a short walk from there to the meeting site, and soon, Curt was knocking on the door of an under-construction frozen yogurt shop. The front of the shop was boarded up, and the sign out front that said “opening soon” in comic sans was cartoonish and annoying. It was the perfect front for their briefing—no one would be excited about a frozen yogurt shop, so no one would give it a second glance.

Curt rapped sharply on the door three times and a secret window slid open in the door, revealing only the eyes of the person on the other side. “Password?”

Curt didn’t respond. He didn’t even lower his sunglasses as he casually sipped his Starbucks and held up his middle finger. Then, he said, “Fuck off, Susan. It’s me.”

Susan made an exasperated sound, then Curt heard the sliding of locks before the door opened, and an equally exasperated-looking Susan stood before him. “That’s not a password, Mega. And you’re late.”

“You’re lucky I’m even here.” Curt said, pushing past Susan and wandering into the shop. There was a short, dark hallway ending in a door, and when Curt went through, he found a brightly lit and busy space. The ceilings were high and crisscrossed with metal beams, the floors were cement, and bright fluorescents lit up the space, making it feel simultaneously vast and cramped. A small collection of metal chairs were lined up facing a projector, and a table of refreshments was wedged up against the wall next it. Tatiana was at the table, piling a small plate with grapes and fiddling with the coffee maker. There were a few other people milling about the room as well. A tall man in vintage Converse was leaning against a wall, deeply engaged in conversation with a shorter woman. The woman had blond hair and glasses and was showing something to the man, getting more excited as she turned it over in her hand and explained it. Seated in one of the chairs was another woman with dark hair and pissed-off look on her face. She was smoking a cigarette and didn’t look like she wanted to be friendly. Susan had wandered in behind Curt, and was now messing with the projector, attempting to turn it on.

It looked like a small crew; minus Susan, Curt only counted five people. How Tatiana expected to pull off a multi-million credit job with only five people was beyond him. But they’d attempted crazier.

He heard a toilet flush and turned to his right just in time to see Owen exit the restroom and wipe his hands on his jeans.

“Fucking great.” The two men said at the same time.

“I should’ve known Tatiana would hire you, too.” Owen said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming.”

“And now I know why she wouldn’t give me a crew list the other night.” Curt said.

“I’m not doing this.” Owen gestured at Curt before he crossed his arms.

“Oh good, more profit for the rest of us.” Curt finally pulled his sunglasses off to look his ex in the eye. “I’m sure Tatiana would be more than happy to get rid of you.”

Owen barked out a laugh. “You really think that, between the two of us, Tatiana would fire me?”

“You’re the one that’s quitting.” Curt said, crossing his arms, too.

Owen opened his mouth to speak again, when Tatiana came over and interrupted. “Oh good. You boys are catching up. It’s been a few years, so I’m sure you have lots to talk about.” She was smiling, but Curt could tell she had sensed the tension.

“Tati, what the fuck is Owen doing here?” Curt said, angry now that he realized he’d been tricked.

“Because I’m good at my job.” Owen said. “That being said, what is Curt doing here? He can’t ever commit to anything, so why would a job this big be any different.” Owen asked.

“Gay and petty aren’t substitutes for a personality, Owen.” Curt snarked.

“Look who’s talking.”

“Enough!” Tatiana said, holding up her hands and ending the conversation. “You were both hired because you’re the best in the business, and I need only the best. So, stop whining, grow a pair, and play nice. Or, if you want to be children, you can walk out and I’ll find someone else to give six million credits to.”

The two men stared at each other, each silently daring the other to walk out. Finally, Curt said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Me neither.” Owen said, then he turned and strode over to the chairs, slumping into one at the end of the row and crossing his arms again.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Tati?” Curt said, trying to disguise the hurt he felt.

“Because I knew if I did, you wouldn’t have come.” Tatiana put a hand on his arm. “And I need you, Curt. I need both of you. And both of you need closure. One last job together will provide that, and hopefully, you’ll get unstuck.” She squeezed his bicep and before Curt could respond, she turned on her heels and clapped her hands together. “OK, everyone!” She announced to the room. “Why don’t we get started?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please. For the love of god. Someone needs to draw Curt showing up late with a Starbucks and sunglasses, flipping everyone off (bonus points for a 'baby slut' tank top, cause mood).


	5. Class and Sass

“Why don’t we get started?” Tatiana said, gesturing to the chairs as the group of strangers shuffled over to sit down. Curt sat in the chair on the opposite end as Owen, and the blond woman sat next to him, inching her chair subtly closer and flashing him a big smile.

The tall man she’d been talking to walked past and headed towards the refreshments table. Curt couldn’t resist; he grabbed the man’s arm as he passed and said, “Hey, dude, what’s with the old people clothes?”

The man looked down at his cargo shorts, silk bowling shirt, and Converse, then wrinkled his nose. “Excuse me? This is vintage Prada circa 2050. It’s _fashion_. Somebody on this godforsaken planet has to have style, so it may as well be me.”

Curt put his hands up in defense. “Sorry.” He watched as the man filled a plate with cheese cubes, then leaned against the wall and started to eat.

Tatiana stood at the front of the room, remote for the projector in her hand. She pressed a button, and the projector sprang to life, a big green “Welcome” holograph floating above it. “We need to start with introductions.” She said. “I realize that not all of you know each other.” She paused as they all looked at each other. “You all know me, I am Tatiana Slozhno, and I am leading this job. I have worked with all of you before, that’s why you were hired.” She pointed at the grumpy woman next to Owen. “Our inside informant and odd jobs expert is Cynthia Houston.” The dark-haired woman nodded. “Barb Lavernor is our tech expert.” The blond woman waved, and Curt nodded impressively. He’d heard Barb’s name thrown around in certain circles; the woman was rumored to be a genius, and the best gadget builder of this century.

Tatiana continued her instructions. “Sergio Santos over there,” She pointed at the man next to the food table, “Is not coming with us on the job, but he’s provided all of our supplies.” Sergio beamed and waved. “Owen Carvour is our weapons expert, and—”

Sergio interrupted. “Oh whoa, no kidding? _The_ Owen Carvour? Otherwise known as the Deadliest Man Alive? You are a legend in the industry, my man!” He crossed the room to shake Owen’s hand vigorously.

Owen looked uncomfortable as he said, “Uh, thanks?”

“Sorry, I’m just such a fan of everyone here.” He smiled at the two women, too.

“Lastly, for all things muscle, we have Curt Mega.”

“Who?” Sergio asked, spinning around to look at Curt.

“Me, asshole.” Curt said, then nodded at the women on the team.

“Sergio, please.” Tatiana said, already looking tired, as if being in the same room as Sergio was enough to age her three years.

“Sorry, sorry.” Sergio said, slinking back to his place on the wall and shoving a handful of grapes into his mouth.

“Tati, will you please tell us what the job is?” Curt whined. “I’ve had a very long week and would like to go take a nap. Or to back out if it’s not worth my time.” Curt heard Owen sigh loudly and could practically feel him rolling his eyes on the other side of the room.

Tatiana smiled mischievously. “Is a 60 million credit robbery with a 10% cut worth your time?” Tatiana watched as everyone in the room sat up a little straighter. Obviously, Curt had been the only one told the pay in advance.

“What are we robbing?” Owen asked, sitting forward slightly in his chair.

“Eos.” Tatiana clicked a button on the remote, and a holographic blueprint of a space station settlement filled the front of the room. Susan dimmed the lights so that they could see better. The sprawling design of the settlement was breathtaking, a mixture of tall, short, and abstract building designs mixed nostalgia with modernism, and the spread-out layout and numerous “bubble parks” provided a sense that one was still on Earth. It was genius.

“Eos is the vacation resort on Planet Mars. The concept was first pitched in 2130 and was finally completed and opened two years ago in 2153. Only very wealthy people frequent Eos, so the payout will be great. Both in a financial sense, and in the sense that we get to screw with rich people.”

Sergio perked up again. “Oh, hell yeah! Wait, what was that old saying? It was a historical slogan back in like, the early 21st-century? C’mon, guys, help me out. It was about rich people?”

Cynthia leaned forward in her chair and spoke for the first time. “No one knows what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Sergio suddenly remembered. “Oh! ‘Eat the rich’. That’s what you’ll do.”

Barb looked frightened. “Sergio… Why was that a saying once? Also, why do you know early 21st-century slogans?”

Sergio shrugged, piling his plate with more food. “I have a Bachelor’s in Early Technological Anthropology.”

“So, why do you sell bombs and explosive supplies?” Barb continued.

“I gotta feed my family.” Sergio said with another shrug. “Cause unlike the rich, I can’t eat my degree. Heyo!” He leaned forward and held out a hand for Curt to high-five.

Curt ignored the high-five and turned to Tatiana. “Why is he here again?”

“I promised him he could listen in, so he at least knew what he was supplying materials for.” Tatiana said.

Cynthia rolled her eyes. “And he’s obviously not great at listening quietly, so what’s stopping him from blabbing our plan all over Orlando?”

“Because if he does, I will put his balls in a TeleSpot to Houston and leave him outside the yellow circle, resulting in splicing and subsequent death.” Tatiana smiled sweetly at him.

Sergio nodded, popping another cube of cheese into his mouth. “I’m very afraid of Ms. Tatiana.”

Curt didn’t care anymore; he was bored, and just wanted to know the details of the job. “Why are we robbing Eos?” He asked.

“Good question.” Tatiana said. “We will be robbing Eos, yes, but more specifically, our target is Big’s Casino.” She pointed to a building on the map.

“We have been hired because Richard Big, the owner of the casino, and really, all of Eos, owes our employer a _lot_ of money. We are being hired to take it back and more. Thus, we are being given a large cut—10% each, which comes out to about six million credits.”

“That’s a lot of money.” Barb said, a wispy tinge of anticipation in her voice.

“Big money equals big risk.” Owen said, sitting forward in his chair. “It also means big security. Can you give us some more details?”

Tatiana reached out and touched a point on the hologram. The green image spun and zoomed in on a pentagonal building on the edge of the settlement. It was a large building, with several wings and multiple floors. Big targets are good; it’s harder to detect when something is wrong.

“This is Big’s Casino. 340,000 square feet of cards, liqueur, and hideous shag carpeting, all just begging for a taste of chaos.” She used her remote to move to the next hologram. This was a 3D model of the first floor of the casino. The center of the pentagon was the gaming floor; card tables, slot machines, and giant roulette wheels were positioned around a stage in the middle of the floor. No doubt they projected holograms of women and placed more advanced Surrogates on the stage for entertainment.

Around the edges of the gaming floor, several doors led to other areas; Curt suspected they were show halls and back-of-house rooms, and as Tatiana began explaining, he discovered he was right.

“This is the main floor.” Tatiana said, using her finger to move the 3D image around and give the crew a view of the casino. “We will not be spending a lot of time here if we can help it. The main thing to note are the cameras.” She pressed a button on the remote, then used her finger to draw circles around the areas where the cameras were located.

“Hang on.” Owen said, looking skeptical. “These are really intricate details. How did you get all of this information?” Curt caught himself before he could smile; Owen was the type that always needed to be one step ahead of everyone else. He needed to know every detail, so he could plan for every eventuality. Had they gone through with a wedding, Curt knew his mother would’ve had an easy and fun time planning with Owen.

Tatiana smiled. “A blackjack dealer in the casino supplied the information. He is getting an easy 100,000 credits for his troubles.” She winked, then went back to talking. “The cameras are located in every corner of the room, plus two in the middle above the stage. Once we get down into the basement, there are less cameras, but more physical security.” She spun the hologram and Curt watched as the view of the gaming floor changed so that he was viewing it from above. “Curt and I will enter here.” She circled the primary entrance to the casino. “We will be posing as a couple on an anniversary trip.” Tatiana picked up a manila envelope from behind the projector and tossed it at Curt. “Your identity is in there.” She tossed packets to everyone else before speaking again. “All of us but Cynthia will be on the same ship to Eos, but only Curt and I will be traveling together. Barb, you and Owen will be single passengers.”

“How am I getting there?” Cynthia asked.

“You are our eyes on the inside, Cynthia. I have secured you a job as a waitress in the casino, so you will be leaving in three days. The rest of us will stay behind and arrive on Eos a little over three weeks after you. Which leads to the next part of the plan.” Tatiana circled a point on the back wall of the casino where the kitchen was. “Owen and Barb, you will be let in through the kitchen. There are two cameras in the kitchen; one by the back door, and one by the food line. You will not be able to waltz in through the back door, so Cynthia will have to wheel you in in a trashcan and let you climb out near the door to the gaming floor.”

Cynthia looked over at Owen appraised him. “You look fucking heavy.”

Owen sigh in confused exasperation. “Thanks?”

Tatiana ignored them and kept talking. “Cynthia, once they are in, you will need to swipe a master keycard from a security officer. There should be one stationed here,” She circled a spot to the left of the kitchen. “Outside of the staff stairwell. Get his keycard and bring it to Curt and me. We will be at a blackjack table close to the kitchen.

“While she is working on a key card, Owen, you will need to get Barb into the security office. There will most likely be a guard outside the office and inside it. You will want to distract one and incapacitate the other.”

“Is the door locked?” Owen asked.

“Yes, but it is an old-fashioned fob lock.” Tatiana said.

“Those are easy to scramble.” Barb piped up. “We’ll be able to move fast.”

“Barb, you are stationed in the security office for the evening. I will need you to patch into the feed to the security cameras and make sure they are not recording. Then, you will use them to keep an eye on us as we move through the casino and help us out. Cynthia, you will float the casino floor and keep an eye and ear out for anything that might suggest the staff has caught on to us. That, and if Barb needs help, you are her backup.”

“Sounds good!” Barb said, and Cynthia nodded as well.

“Owen, while you are in the security office, find an extra uniform and put it on. Once you are back out on the casino floor, Curt will make a scene at the blackjack table, and you’ll come apprehend us. Lead us back to the staff stairwell, and we will use the keycard to get in.” She clicked to the next hologram. This one was pentagonal as well, but far more sparsely furnished. It was the casino’s basement. “Once we get down the stairs, we will enter the basement here.” She marked a point on the hologram. “And the vault is across the basement over here.” She circled the room that held the vault. “Curt, this is where you get to do the heavy lifting. There is going to be a _lot_ of security in the basement. You and Owen will need to work quickly and quietly to get us to the vault door. There are rumors flying around the casino staff that two Clockworks guard the door to the vault room, so we will need to be prepared for that.”

“Great.” Curt muttered. Punching a Clockwork is the equivalent to punching a brick wall.

“I’ll be working on gadgets to help with that, Curt.” Barb said, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “I’ve got your back.”

Curt was confused and a little startled. Was she flirting with him? She didn’t even _know_ him! Then, before he could stop himself, Curt blurted. “You know I’m gay, right?”

Barb flushed red and looked like she wanted to melt into the floor. “I’m sorry—that’s not—that’s not what I meant. I just—” She stammered.

“Jesus Christ, Curt!” Owen finally erupted again. “Have some fucking class.”

Curt sat forward in his chair, so he could look at Owen. “You _can_ your fucking sass.”

“Boys, boys, you’re both pretty.” Cynthia droned, inspecting her nails.

“That was aggressive.” Sergio remarked, renewing the vigor with which he stuffed his face. “This is better than TV.”

“They’re ex-lovers.” Cynthia pointed out, still refusing to look up from her nails.

Now it was Owen and Curt’s turn to turn red. “How did you—?” Owen started.

“I saw you talking earlier. Only exes have that much hostility in them.” She shrugged, then she looked up at Tatiana. “Are we gonna have a problem with these two chucklefucks on the team?” She jerked a thumb at the two of them.

“Hey!” Curt said, offended.

Tatiana pinched the bridge of her nose. “Curt, Owen, I swear to god.” They settled down and it became quiet in the room again. “No, we won’t have a problem. I trust them both to act like professionals from here on out.” She shot them both warning glances.

“You’re right.” Owen conceded. “I apologize for my rudeness.” He wasn’t talking to Curt.

Tatiana looked at Curt, waiting for his apology. “Sorry.” Curt muttered.

Tatiana turned back to the hologram. “The last bit of the journey is here.” She circled the vault room on the blueprint. “Owen, this is where you will need to be prepared. We don’t know what kind of lock mechanism is on the door to the vault room, so I want you armed with explosives of all different kinds.” Owen nodded. “Once we’re inside, we will need to either hack or blow the safe. We cannot make that decision until we are in there and see the mechanism. And once we are inside the vault, that is the end; we have the money.”

She finally stopped talking and took a sip of water. “Questions?”

“How are we supposed to walk out of there with 60 million credits in cash?” Cynthia asked. “Once they realized they’ve been robbed, they’ll lock the planet down. We won’t be able to fly back.”

“That is where Barb comes in again.” Tatiana pointed at the still-crimson scientist. “Barb, you are working on a device to automatically deposit cash, yes?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s still a prototype, but once it’s finished, the idea is that you’ll scan the cash, it’ll read the individual credit ID, and deposit it directly into a bank account. Basically, the owner of the cash won’t know it’s useless until they try to use it and its rejected.” Barb shrugged.

“It is still a prototype.” Tatiana echoed. “Do you think you can have it ready in three weeks?”

Barb thought for a moment. “I can have it to you in two.”

“Perfect.” Tatiana clapped her hands together. “Any other questions?”

“What happens if we’re caught?” Curt piped up.

“Wipe your IdentiChips first. You will all have fake IDs, but if caught, it is better for the team if you are nameless.” Tatiana held up a small vile. “After that, all of you will have a bottle of undiluted Narcolight. Instant death. It is your decision whether or not you would like to take it. But do _not_ betray the group.” She gave them all a hard look. “I suggest not getting caught.”

It was silent for a long moment again. Finally, Curt said, “What do we do for three weeks while we wait?”

Tatiana gestured to the packets in their hands. “You each have IDs and instructions. You will need to scramble your current chips and load them with your new identities. You also have a few prep tasks that you will need to complete before we leave. They should keep you relatively busy.” She turned to Owen. “You need to shave the beard, too.” Owen looked offended. “You look homeless. If you’re going to fit in up there, you need to be clean-shaven.”

“Fine.” Owen grumbled.

“One last thing.” Tatiana said, pointing at Curt and Owen. “I signed you both up for a YMCA membership. Spend the next three weeks sparing and get re-acquainted with how each other fight.” Curt opened his mouth to protest, but Tatiana held up a hand. “If you are going to be fighting together, you cannot be rusty. Our safety in the basement hinges on you two working well together.”

This time, it was Curt’s turn to grumble. “Fine.”

“Any more questions?” Tatiana asked, and when no one responded, she smiled. “Good. Wish Cynthia good luck, as she leaves in three days. As for the rest of you: see you in three weeks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's gon' get gay for a chapter or so. Then, it's heist time, babay!


	6. Spar Me the Details

The first thing Curt did when he got back to his hotel room was skim through his information packet. It contained his new ID details, an itinerary of the next few weeks, and a checklist of the tasks he needed to get done. His checklist was considerably shorter than what he assumed Barb and Owen had; he was strictly the muscle of the group, so his only major task was to stay in shape for the next three weeks.

The second thing he did was leave again. The meeting had lasted all day, and he was free to enjoy his Saturday evening, so Curt went immediately to a nearby bar and started hitting on guys. He brought home Glenn on Saturday, Li on Sunday, and both Michael and Frederick on Monday.

He was relatively indiscriminate with who he hooked-up with; he was desperate to erase the memory of sleeping with Owen on Friday night. But nothing seemed to stick. Each time he climaxed and fell back into bed, totally spent and ready for sleep, it was the taste of Old Fashioned and the feeling of scruff on his neck that invaded his dreams.

The ghost of Owen had haunted him for years. Now, the reality of Owen haunted him achingly harder.

On Tuesday night, Curt kicked Jesse out of his room before either of them had finished. He was angry and touch-starved, but not for the kind of touch a random hook-up could sate. He wanted to be held and he was angry for feeling that way.

“What did I do wrong?” Jesse protested, pulling his shirt on in the hallway.

“Nothing.” Curt said, snapping the door shut and leaving a confused young man in the hallway. He wasn’t in the right headspace to deal with any of this, and he just wanted to sleep. The bottle of Narcolight he brought with him for travel sat on the bedside table, and he considered taking a dose. It would leave him drowsy and a little slow the next day, and Owen might be upset with him if he showed up to their first training session practically hungover. But on the other hand, he couldn’t handle another night of Owen visiting him in his sleep, nor did he want to awake to the disappointment it brought in the morning.

He swallowed a dose and settled back against his pillow. It only took a moment for the drug to spread warmly through his system, and dreamless sleep settled over him like a blanket.

\------

Emerging from N-sleep always sucked. It felt like climbing through syrup and breathing in smoke. Curt rolled over and groaned as his alarm clock went off, dreading the day and the amount of work he had ahead of him. He pressed the “snooze” button and ground his hips into the mattress. He was either still hard from the night before, which he didn’t think was possible, or he had just recently become hard again. Either way, he was annoyed. And he didn’t have time to take care of it.

Tatiana had reserved a multipurpose room at the YMCA for four hours; one today, one tomorrow, and two once a week for the proceeding two weeks. She said she wanted them to get reacquainted with each other’s fighting styles. Curt believed she really just wanted them to start getting along again. To be friends again.

That wasn’t happening.

Curt stood up from the bed and went into the bathroom. His head was pounding, and the room was spinning a little. He regretted the Narcolight now. Curt turned on the shower, and as it warmed up, he splashed water on his face from the sink and took three Tylenol. The shower and the pills should help to clear his head, but he was still going to be foggy during his sparing session, and he knew Owen would use that to get the better of him. He groaned and rubbed his face. Today was going to suck. This heist was going to suck.

“It’s six million credits.” Curt said to himself in the mirror. “You just have to get along for a few weeks, then you’re rich. And you never have to see Owen again.”

He shut the sink off and stepped into the shower. The hot water and the steam began to wake him up and sweep the cobwebs out of his mind, and by the time he had finished showering and stepped back out, he was feeling a little less dizzy. He needed breakfast.

Skipping the hotel breakfast again was an easy decision, as Curt breezed out the front door and onto the sidewalk. The YMCA was a short walk away, but the bakery across the street was having a sale on croissants.

“Jackpot.” Curt muttered, crossing the street to buy breakfast. Today was going to be long; he needed carbs to get through it.

\------

When Curt finally arrived at the Y, Owen was waiting for him.

“You’re late.” Owen said, standing in the middle of the room, his arms crossed. He was clean-shaven and looked well rested, if annoyed. There was a sparing stick next to him on the floor, and another leaning by the door. “Now we only have 45 minutes to train. Can you be on time for once in your life?”

Curt shrugged and dropped his bag by the door. “Why don’t you nag me about it a little more, huh?” He picked up the stick next to the door. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Owen picked his stick up. “With pleasure.”

They each took a fighter’s stance and circled each other, daring the other to strike first. It was Curt who moved first, stepping forward and swinging at Owen with the stick. Owen dodged the swipe and used the momentum from his side-step to swing at Curt’s side. Curt quickly brought his stick over to block the strike. Then, he quickly spun Owen’s staff and the momentum pushed the other man back a few steps.

“You’re slower than you used to be.” Curt said, smirking. “Someone getting old?” Owen moved rapidly and smacked his stick into the side of Curt’s arm. “Dammit!” Curt cried out, grabbing onto his arm.

“Only if that someone is you.” Owen said, sweeping his leg at Curt’s ankles.

Curt saw it coming and danced out of the way. “Watch it!” He said.

“Typical Curt,” Owen said, taking another swing at Curt’s arm, which he managed to block. “You’re all for rough housing when you’re the one on top.” He made a sharp move to his right, and as Curt went to block it, he changed course and shoved Curt in the shoulder. “But when I’m winning, you want to slow down.”

Curt took another swipe at Owen and watched as his staff whizzed through air, failing to connect with anything. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“So, you’ve told me!” Owen said. He was fuming now.

They spared rapidly, taking aggressive swings back and forth and flinching as the sticks passed only inches from their body. Then, Curt landed a hit on Owen’s hip. The _crack_ of stick on bone echoed in the room, and Owen took a step back. “Be careful!” He yelled, holding his hip. It was going to be bruised later. “That could’ve really hurt me!”

“Good.” Curt said, then blinked in shock when he realized he meant it. When did he become so…volatile? When did he stop caring about Owen?

Owen’s eyes widened as well. He looked confused and hurt. “Why do you hate me?” He asked quietly.

“You broke my heart!” Curt snapped, a dam breaking inside of him, one he’d built 3 years ago and forgotten was even there. The years apart rose up and crested inside him, crashing down and spilling out to land at his feet. “You _left_ me, Owen!” Curt balled his fists and was shaking. “You walked out and left me like I was _nothing_. Like I never meant anything to you.”

Owen straightened up. “I didn’t just _leave_ , Curt. You forced my hand. I wasn’t going to stay with someone who would never marry me.”

“I never said ‘never’!” Curt shouted. “You’ve always been one step ahead of me, Owen, but you didn’t even give me the chance to catch up!” He was hysterical now. Hundreds of sleepless nights with unsaid words came tumbling out of him in a rush. “I loved you. I _loved_ you, Owen. And you left me. And then we had sex last week and I thought you were back. I thought…” He trailed off for a moment, his words catching in his throat. “I thought we could fix this. But then you kicked me out. I may have physically left, but you ended it a second time. And that hurt, too.”

“We can’t keep having this conversation, Curt!” Owen snapped. “You need to move on. We have a job to do, and we’re going to die up there if we can’t just get along for four _fucking_ weeks!”

“Did you ever even stop to think about what your leaving would _do_ to me? Huh? Did you think about me and what I might be going through? Or did you just think about yourself?”

Owen stared silently for a long time, the silence stretching thick between them. “I’m not having this conversation anymore. I have nothing left to say to you.” He finally said.

“Of course, you don’t.” Curt threw his sparing stick on the ground and turned around, grabbing his bag before opening the door to the room.

“I did love you, Curt.” Owen said softly. “And I worried about hurting you. I still worry about you.”

Curt paused in the doorway. “Just worry about the next four weeks. Then, you never have to worry about me again.” He walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

\----

Curt didn’t bother setting an alarm for the next morning. He wasn’t going to sparing practice with Owen. He wasn’t going next week or the week after, either, and Tatiana was just going to have to deal with it. Owen and he could be professionals when the time called for it, but he was not going to spend his free time on Earth bickering and swings sticks at his ex. It wasn’t worth his time.

By the time he woke up, he was already ten minutes late to practice. His phone buzzed a reminder of two text messages; both from Owen.

_Please don’t be late today._

_I can’t believe you’re late again. We have a lot of ground to cover._

Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

Curt still had steam from the day before that he needed to blow off, so he dug a pair of headphones out of his suitcase, sticking the microchips in place behind his ears and choosing a playlist on his watch.

The loud, post-modern punk music began to flow seamlessly into his brain, as he made his way down the stairs of the hotel and out into the street. Then, he began to run.

Curt ran miles. He ran past couples and singles and children and old people. He ran until he couldn’t hear his music over the pounding of his heart. He ran until his lungs burned and his legs begged him to stop. He ran until the tears started to flow.

Then, he stopped running and started to sob.

This wasn’t fair. He wanted Owen back. He couldn’t have Owen back. He wanted everything to be OK. He couldn’t have “OK”. He wanted to be doing this mission solo. He couldn’t do this alone.

He wanted. He couldn’t.

The dueling emotions pumped through his body and rushed through his ears in a cacophony of heartache. Wanted. Couldn’t. Wanted. Couldn’t.

Finally, he ripped his headphones off and gasped for air.

\-----

It had taken Curt a lot longer to get back to his hotel than it had to run away from it; he was walking slowly, his head down and his steps deliberate. With each new step he took, though, he felt his heart unburdening a little more. He’d been keeping a lid on his emotional turmoil since running into Owen last week, and once he’d let it out, he began to feel lighter. He began to feel kinder, too.

When he got back to the hotel, he found several text messages and a voicemail waiting for him.

_You’re 30 minutes late! How long are you going to keep me waiting?_

_Curt, seriously, we’ve only got 15 more minutes with the space._

_Are you ok?_

_Curt?_

The voicemail was short and had both a tone of annoyance and worry. “ _Curt, it’s Owen. You missed practice. I waited there for an hour for you. Are you OK? I know we left things…badly yesterday, but I had hoped we could patch things up. Start working as a team again?”_ There was a long pause. _“You’re not… using again, are you? You looked a little bleary yesterday. Just please call or text me.”_

Curt deleted the voicemail, and an overwhelming sense of guilt flooded him. He’d made Owen worry about him. Enough to where he thought Curt might be holed up in a ditch somewhere, strung out and flying high. Or dead.

He typed out a quick text to Owen.

_I’m fine. Sorry I missed practice. I’ll be on time next week._

The three dots appeared and disappeared and reappeared several times as Curt imaged Owen contemplating whether or not to lay into him about the radio silence. Then, his phone buzzed in his hand.

_ok._

He dropped the phone on the bed and sat down next to it. Next week, he would do better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a series within a fic! Called "Three times Curt and Owen fought and one time they made up". Lol


	7. Déjà vu

Curt arrived on time the next week. In fact, he was ten minutes early with two cups of coffee and a bagel. He had two bagels originally, but he ate the other on his walk over. He was tempted to stress-eat the second and pretend it never existed, but that would defeat the purpose.

Curt had spent the last week yo-yoing between hundreds of emotions, often switching so fast his head spun. He was angry at Tatiana for tricking him into this situation. He was optimistic it would all work out. He was irritated that Owen still pushed so many of his buttons; both good and bad. He was happy he’d at least gotten to kiss him one last time.

He exercised a lot that week, pushing his body to extremes in an attempt to gain some clarity. Should he quit and just go home? Should he grit his teeth and suffer through? Should he fake his death and avoid the whole situation? Each run brought him closer to exhaustion and further from a solution.

On the morning of his next sparring session, he had made a decision. He didn’t want to hate Owen. He didn’t want Owen to hate him. So, non-hating started with coffee and a bagel. And punctuality.

When Owen rounded the corner to where the practice room was, he startled. Not because he wasn’t expecting a person to be standing outside the door. But because he wasn’t expecting _Curt_.

“Hey.” Curt smiled sheepishly.

“You’re on time.” Owen said, shocked.

“I told you I would be.” Curt shrugged, and held out the coffee cup. “You still like French Vanilla?”

Owen smiled softly. “My favorite.” He took the cup, then peeked inside the pastry bag. “I shouldn’t…” He said reluctantly. “It slows me down.”

Curt waved a dismissive hand. “Like my mom always told you,” He wrinkled his nose and did his best Mrs. Mega impression, “Owen, you’re so skinny, I’m gonna make you a brisket, no buts!”

Owen laughed. “Your mum always thought I was too skinny.”

“She would’ve been right this time.” Curt dug a finger playfully into Owen’s ribcage, and the other man moved subtly out of Curt’s reach.

“How is your mum?” He asked, taking a sip of the coffee.

“Good. I think she has a pet squirrel now, though.” Owen raised an eyebrow in question, and Curt shrugged. “Don’t ask.”

They both began to laugh. And it felt so good to laugh together again.

Finally, Owen gestured to the room. “Should we get started?”

They made quick work of the room setup, dragging wrestling mats out and putting together the sparing sticks that Owen brought. Before long, they were in fighting stance, ready to get some actual work done. Owen made the first move.

His swings were controlled this time, coming from a place of strategy rather than anger. Curt blocked each one, sending back a volley of his own measured swings. They moved across the floor, falling into a comfortable rhythm and working up a sweat as they swung and blocked and swung again.

Then, Curt tried a spin move, lost his balance, and stumbled. Owen paused. “You’re not holding your feet right for that.” He said, pointing to Curt’s shoes. “Keep on the balls of your feet, and lift off from your front foot, not both at the same time. And make sure to keep your elbows in.” He tapped Curt’s elbow with his stick.

Curt shifted his feet, feeling awkward as Owen watched him. He lifted off from his front foot, tucked his elbows, and cut a spinning strike through the air. When he landed again, he was smiling. “Thanks! I’ve been trying to nail that for… years, actually.”

Owen smiled back. “Let’s try some hand-to-hand.” He tossed the stick aside, and Curt followed suit.

This time, Curt initiated. He threw a jab at Owen and watched as the man easily slipped away from it. “This never was your strong suit.” Curt said, lightly teasing him.

“People change.” Owen said, throwing an impressive right hook that Curt had to duck pretty far to get under.

Curt popped back up and went for Owen’s stomach, raising an eyebrow as his punch was blocked expertly. “So they do.”

They stopped talking and focused on fighting. They were more evenly matched now than they had ever been in the four years they had dated, and Curt quickly ran out of breath. It was hot in the multi-purpose room, and both were sweaty as they grappled and punched and dodged.

Finally, Curt dodged a punch from Owen and threw a shoulder lightly into Owen’s gut. Owen wasn’t expecting it, and he tumbled backwards onto the mat, pulling Curt down with him. Curt landed on top of Owen, and they smacked foreheads. Curt didn’t immediately move as he blinked away stars from his vision.

After a moment, he put his hands on the floor next to Owen’s shoulders and pushed himself up. Then, he paused. Owen had an erection. It was obvious, hard and pressing into Curt’s thigh. Curt smirked, and Owen turned red when he realized Curt could feel his predicament.

“This seems familiar.” Curt said with a wink. “Feeling a lot of déjà vu again, huh?” He playfully ground his hips into Owen’s.

Owen’s face hardened, and anger replaced the embarassment in his eyes. “Get off me.” He said.

“Owen—” Curt started, but was interrupted.

“Get off!” Owen barked out, and Curt pushed off the ground and stood up.

He watched as Owen stood up, still obviously pissed. “What’d I do wrong this time?”

Owen looked up at him, stunned. “You even have to ask?” Curt crossed his arms and waited for an answer. Owen scoffed. “Curt, you have _no right_ to flirt with me like that. It’s not fair to me, and it’s also incredibly rude.”

“I’m just flirting!” Curt threw his arms up in exasperation. “It’s harmless! And it’s just part of who I am!”

“Yeah, a shitty part of who you are.” Owen snapped back.

“Oh my god.” Curt rolled his eyes. “It means _nothing_.”

“Yeah, and see, that’s the fucking problem.” Owen said. “It means nothing to you, so you don’t care who you hurt with it. You don’t care that you’re hurting me now with it, and you don’t care that you hurt me in the past with it. Remember the New Year’s party of ’49?”

“That was ages ago, why are you still upset about it?” Curt asked.

Owen blinked in shock. “You flirted with another man _in front of me_ , Curt. Why wouldn’t I have been upset about it?”

“It was just a few comments,” Curt said, “I don’t understand what the big deal is.”

“The big deal is that after you went to get another drink, the man asked me to give you his hotel room number and to tell you to come up whenever.” Owen said, the wind falling quickly out of his sails. “I was your boyfriend. I shouldn’t have had to watch that. I shouldn’t have had to be afraid to tell you about him, and to throw the paper away before you could see it or ask about it. I shouldn’t have had to lie awake at night wondering if you were coming home late because you were with another man.”

“I never cheated on you.” Curt said.

“Not physically, no.” Owen said. Then, he brushed past Curt, collecting his things before letting the door swing shut behind him.

Curt yelled in frustration, kicking the edge of one of the mats. “Fucking hell.” He muttered. So much for Owen not hating him.

\-----

Owen didn’t speak to Curt again for a while. Curt sent one text to apologize on Wednesday afternoon, but he heard nothing back for days. Curt actually started to worry that maybe Owen had backed out, or that he’d told Tatiana it was either him or Curt, and she was going to fire him. Owen had been right: out of the two of them, Owen was the more valuable team member.

By Monday, he was less concerned and more curious as to what would happen next. Their next sparing session was scheduled for Wednesday, and their ship to Eos left on Friday. They were running out of time to either kill each other or learn to get along, and so far, it seemed like the former would win out. He wondered what kind of songs Tatiana will have played at his funeral…

Then, he received two text messages.

_I need help._

_I can’t get my IndentiChip recoded._

It was Owen. He needed help, and he reached out to Curt, and not Barb or Tatiana. Curt contemplated ignoring the text, but he also knew that Owen would need the chip squared away by Friday, and if he couldn’t figure it out, they’d be in trouble as a team.

_Castle Inn Hotel on 6 th street. Room 115._

He pressed send, then thought a moment and typed out:

_Bring me pad thai as payment._

Forty-five minutes later, there was a knock at the door. When Curt swung it open, Owen stood on the other side, looking frazzled, but holding a take-out bag in one hand. “I got mild for you.”

Curt stepped out of the way and let Owen inside. “Thanks for remembering.”

Owen came inside, tossed his jacket on a chair, and set the pad thai on the bedside table, before sinking onto the mattress and putting his head in his hands.

“You OK?” Curt asked.

Owen sighed. “Yeah. My scrambler didn’t work correctly.” He held up his wrist, and an angry burn mark covered his wrist. The red mark started at the joint of his wrist, and spidered out to follow the veins on his forearm, stopping halfway up the appendage.

“Holy shit!” Curt said, grabbing the ice bucket from the bathroom counter. “Stay there.” He ran down the hall and filled the bucket with ice, rushing back to the room to wrap a handful of cubes in a washcloth and press it against Owen’s wrist. Once the cold towel touched his skin, Owen jumped and hissed in pain. “Why did you stop for food?” Curt asked, incredulous.

“Because I’m fine.” Owen said through gritted teeth. “I’ve had worse.”

“You could’ve stopped your heart.” Curt said, moving the ice pack away to take a look at the skin. It was red, but it was a surface wound. It wouldn’t scar.

“I’m aware.” Owen said, looking exhausted but relieved. “I must have hit the chip wrong when I went to scramble it. Or the scrambler is busted.”

“Did you get it scrambled at least?” He asked.

“I sure fucking hope so.” Owen said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to have to use it more times than necessary.”

Curt made Owen hold the compress against his wrist, then got up to rifle through his luggage. He had a scanner in his suitcase, and once he’d found it, he held it up triumphantly. “Got it!” He went back over to Owen and Owen pulled the ice pack off of his skin as Curt waved the small chip scanner over it.

An error message popped up on screen. “Yeah, you wiped it.” Curt said, tossing the scanner onto the bed. “You officially don’t exist right now.”

Owen winced a smile. “Just the way I like it.” He replaced the ice pack and nodded to his jacket on the chair. “My new ID’s in my pocket. Mind loading it into your scrambler so I can recode my chip?”

“Owen, you just had a bad scramble. You shouldn’t try to recode until at least tomorrow. You could have a heart attack.” Curt said, crossing his arms.

“I can’t wait until tomorrow. I need to swap tonight so I can go to an arms deal tomorrow for the last few pieces I need for my pulse charges. Then, I need to swap again on Wednesday night for the flight on Friday.”

“That’s a lot of swapping for only a few days.” Curt said. “It’s not safe. Especially after a bad scramble.”

Owen gritted his teeth. “I know that. But I have to do it. So please don’t lecture me, and just help me.” He sounded annoyed, but his eyes were soft and pleading.

Curt thought about it for a long time, then sighed. “Fine.” He picked his scrambler up from the bedside table and dug the ID details out of Owen’s jacket pocket. ‘Sam Matthews’ was the name on the paper, 35 years old, from Michigan. Social security number, date of birth, and the bank account number Owen had attached to Sam were all written down, and Curt plugged them all into the scrambler, watching as the information was coded.

Curt crouched in front of Owen, placing the ice pack on the bedside table and taking his arm in his hand. Curt placed the scrambler against the burn mark on Owen’s wrist and said, “This is going to hurt a lot.”

He pressed the recode button, and electricity shot into Owen’s wrist. Owen gripped Curt’s shoulder in pain, his nails digging deep enough in that Curt knew he would have a bruise in the morning. He arched his back and yelled out to the ceiling as Curt watched, his own wrist throbbing in solidarity.

And as soon as the recoding had started, it stopped. Owen was sweating as he slowly released his grip on Curt; he looked exhausted and, quite frankly, like shit. Curt waved the scanner over Owen’s wrist and watched as Sam Matthews’s information popped up on the screen. “Welcome back to existence, Sam.” Curt said, putting a reassuring hand on Owen’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” Owen said, putting his head in his hands again, trying to ease the headache that was setting in.

Curt stood and went over to his suitcase, burying the illegal scanner once again. “You know,” He started, taking a deep breath. He shook two Tylenol out of the bottle in his suitcase and went back over to Owen. “I’ve been thinking about last week.”

“Yeah?” Owen said, a strain still in his voice. He accepted the Tylenol and swallowed them without water.

“Yeah.” Curt shuffled a bit. “You were right. I didn’t have a right to flirt with you like that.” He shrugged. Owen barked out a laugh suddenly. “What?” Curt asked, crossing his arms defensively.

“Nothing.” Owen settled back down again, an amused smile still playing at his lips. “It’s just. In the four years we dated, you never once said ‘you’re right’ to me. It was always just a huff and an ‘I guess’.”

Curt shrugged. “People change.”

“So they do.” Owen said, holding Curt’s gaze for a long time. Neither knew what to do or say next, but both knew they didn’t want to be the one to break the moment.

Finally, Owen looked away and said, “I need to leave.” He stood up and took his jacket off the chair. “I need to be up early to meet that dealer.”

Curt nodded stepping aside as Owen headed for the door. “See you on Wednesday?” Curt asked.

“See you on Wednesday.” And just like that, Owen was gone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a great chapter, but necessary


	8. Flying Kick of Faith

Curt woke up to a buzzing sound and saw his phone vibrating on the nightstand. It buzzed across the surface, then fell to the floor where the shag carpet ate it and the noise subsided. Curt looked at the digital clock. 6AM. That’s bullshit. Who is calling at 6 in the morning?

He rolled over and ignored the light buzz coming from the carpet. It finally stopped, and he closed his eyes again, hoping for a few more hours of sleep.

Instead, the door to his hotel room banged open and he startled, falling out of bed and hitting the floor hard. He reached for his open suitcase next to him, pulled out his gun, and popped back up, aiming at the intruder.

It was Owen. And he looked annoyed.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve been calling!” He said, hands on his hips. He was wearing a grey suit and his hair was slicked back in a professional manner.

“How did you get in here?” Curt asked, confused, but slowly lowering his gun.

“Your hotel still uses fob keys; it’s not a hard lock to pick.” Owen shrugged. “C’mon, we’re running late.”

Curt rubbed his eyes and picked his phone up. Sure enough, he had eight missed calls from Owen. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to back me up on my deal this morning.” Owen said, straightening the sleeves of his suit. “Tatiana was supposed to come, but Barb needs her help with her credit deposit gadget. So, she told me to get you.”

Curt blinked, still waking up. “I don’t have a suit.”

“Just throw on jeans and a white shirt. You’re back up, so you don’t have to look nice. I’m the one doing the deal.” Owen walked forward and picked Curt’s jeans up off of the floor, and it wasn’t until Owen threw them across the room that Curt remembered he was only in his boxers. A brief red flush creeped up his neck. “I’ll be in the car.” Owen said. “Bring your gun and hurry up. I don’t want to be late.”

Curt was still a little stunned as Owen closed the door to his hotel room. It had been years since he’d been to an arms deal; his solo jobs didn’t typically involve explosives or weapons that he couldn’t easily acquire at WalMart with 20 credits and a fake IdentiChip. Arms deals were dangerous and often ended badly. Curt preferred to die in the middle of a job, not in the middle of prep.

But, Owen needed back up, so Curt pulled on his jeans and shirt, grabbed his gun, and left the hotel room in a hurry, banging down the stairs nodding tersely to the receptionist as he walked out the front doors.

Owen was waiting on the curb outside, leaning against a sleek black SUV. He tossed Curt the keys. “You’ll have to drive.”

“Why?” Curt hated driving. He was terrible at it.

“We’re playing the part of wealthy man,” He gestured to himself, “And his security detail.” He gestured at Curt. “So, you’ll have to drive.” He didn’t explain further as he opened the passenger door and climbed inside.

Curt sighed, then walked around to the driver’s side. This wasn’t the first time he’d done something uncomfortable for Owen. His mother called it ‘character growth’; he called it ‘a pain in the ass’.

When Curt got into the car, he saw that Owen had already plugged the meeting coordinates into the GPS; it was an hour drive away. Owen had a briefcase in his lap, and Curt assumed it held the cash they would need to buy whatever it was they were going to buy. Owen had also pulled his pistol out of the holster on his belt and it rested on top of the briefcase, and he had his nose buried in his phone, typing out a message to someone.

Curt started the SUV and pulled cautiously out of the spot. He eased onto the road and began following the GPS south towards the interstate.

“I’m going to need you to drive a little faster. I want to get there by 7:30 so we have time to look over the meeting spot before Callum arrives at 9.” Owen didn’t look up from his phone.

Curt had a strong grip on the steering wheel, and he nudged the gas pedal a little, only increasing the speed of the car by a few miles per hour, which was still well under the speed limit. “I’m trying.” He said.

Owen looked up from his phone and over at Curt. “Oh shit, I forgot. You don’t like driving.”

“It’s fine.” Curt said. “Once we get out of the city, I’ll feel better.”

They drove in silence for a long time, Curt gripping the wheel tightly and nervously watching as other cars passed him. Once they got onto the interstate and exited the denser part of Orlando, Curt began to relax. Fewer cars were on the road out here, and he felt like he could breathe without crashing and killing them. He exhaled and relaxed his grip on the wheel.

“You ok?” Owen asked, finally putting his phone away and looking up at Curt again.

“Yeah. You’ll probably have to drive back, though.”

“I can manage that.” Owen said. He reached out and fiddled with the radio until he found a station he liked. It was a classics station, playing songs from the early to mid-21st century. Curt never understand classic music, so he just nodded along a bit and pretended it wasn’t all gibberish to him.

“What are we buying?” Curt finally asked, and Owen turned down the radio again.

“Nitrostalite.” Owen said. “It’s a very illegal powder. It’s highly explosive, but when mixed with the right chemicals, it’s an extremely conductive metal. I need it for my pulse charges.”

Curt nodded at the briefcase. “How much?”

“Three thousand credits.” Owen said. “Our backer must be stupid rich, because Tati said he cut a check without even blinking.”

“Or he knows he’ll get a big enough return on that investment once we finish the heist.” Curt shrugged. It was quiet in the car again for a while, then Curt asked a question he’d always been curious about. “Owen, you have like a Master’s in chemistry, right?”

“I have a PhD in Organic Chemistry, yeah.” Owen said, shrugging.

“Why didn’t you do anything with your degree?”

Owen started laughing. “Curt, you never went to college, so you don’t know how criminally _expensive_ and nearly pointless it is.” Owen shifted in his seat, and Curt recognized the gesture as Owen’s signal that he was about to go on a rant. “I got a Bachelor’s in O Chem because I like chemistry, right? Then I get out into the job market and realize that most of the jobs require a Master’s. So, I go back to school and get a Master’s. I go back to the job market and realize that the Master’s-level jobs don’t pay a lot. In fact, they don’t pay shit.

“A lot of the higher paying chemistry jobs require a PhD. So, I decide to go back and get a PhD. I study hard, I publish my thesis, and I graduate. And I’m offered jobs once I have my degree. BUT, by this point, I’m being crushed by my student loans. Curt, I owed 500,000 credits. There’s no way to pay that back. I would have owed until I died, and then my children would have owed the rest.” He sighed. “So, I started making bombs and robbing banks and pulling casino heists. In three years of being a professional criminal, I paid off my loans in full. And I just never quit. Our first job together in 2148 was actually the first job where the profits were all mine.”

Curt looked over in shock. “500,000 credits? For three degrees?”

Owen nodded. “That’s why our industry is growing. More and more people realize that they can’t live off their degrees. So, they put the talents they learned at university to good use: stealing from the people who profit off broken educational and legal and healthcare systems.”

Curt returned his gaze to the road. “You’re right. It’s criminally expensive. I mean, shit, we may be criminals, Owen, but at least we’re not supervillains.”

Owen shrugged. “Why do you think I always jump at a chance to pull jobs against really rich people?”

“Eat the rich, right?” Curt cracked a smile, and Owen began to laugh. Soon, a comfortable silence settled into the car again.

\-----

“You Sam Matthews?” A burly man with a large gun asked Owen.

They were standing in a warehouse just outside of Orlando. When they’d first arrived, Owen and Curt swept the building in search of extra exits and any surprises. They wanted to be prepared for anything. Then, they’d waited in the car across the street until they saw another black SUV pull up and several men pile out. They were well out numbered, so they hoped nothing would go wrong.

Now, they stood at the entrance of the warehouse as five men appraised them. Four of the men each had a gun and were staring at them angrily, as if Curt and Owen were about to _take_ 3,000 credits from them, not give it to them.

“Yes, that’s me.” Owen said, straightening the bottom of his suit jacket. “I’m looking for Mitchell Callum. He has a product for me.”

“Who’s he?” The man said, pointing his gun at Curt. Curt didn’t flinch. “We were told a woman was accompanying you.”

“Grace couldn’t make it.” Owen said, and Curt refrained from raising an eyebrow at Tatiana’s chosen fake name. “This is Jason Hicks. He’s my security guard.” Owen was always extremely cool under pressure. It had both impressed Curt on missions and infuriated him during personal fights.

The large man stared at them for a long moment before he nodded in approval and walked to stand with the other three men that Curt assumed were on security detail.

A different man stepped forward to address Owen. This one was wearing a nice suit and had a holowatch strapped to his wrist. “Nice to meet you Mr. Matthews. I’m Mitchell Callum.”

Owen nodded in greeting. “You have the nitrostalite?”

“So impatient, Mr. Matthews.” Callum said, obviously intending to drag the deal out for as long as possible. “But, yes. I have it.” He snapped a finger aggressively and one of his goons brought a briefcase forward and handed it to Callum. He opened the case and revealed a canister the size of a water bottle half-full of a purple, green, and white powder. “Four ounces cut with calcium chloride; just like you requested.”

“Perfect.” Owen reached out to Curt, silently requesting their briefcase. He knew better than to snap at his ex-boyfriend.

Curt handed Owen the case, his eyes never leaving the three goons standing behind Callum. Owen opened the briefcase and showed Callum the cash. “3,000 credits. You can count it if you need to.”

Callum looked over the cash and clicked his tongue at it. “I would, if 3,000 was going to be sufficient.” Owen raised an eyebrow. “See, the price is 5,000 credits now.”

“Excuse me?” Owen asked.

“You threw us a curveball bringing an unexpected person.” Callum nodded at Curt. “So, I’m throwing one back. 5,000 credits.”

“We didn’t agree to five.” Owen said sternly. “I only brought three.”

“Well, then I guess you’ll have to come back another day with five.” Callum shrugged. “But by then, it might six or eight.” They didn’t have another day to come back.

“Just take the 3,000. That’s all four cut ounces is worth anyway.” Owen said, drilling daggers into the dealer.

Callum shrugged. “My time is valuable, too, Mr. Matthews.” He started to turn and walk towards his men. “Come back when you have 6,000 credits.”

Curt could see the frustration inside Owen pulling and stretching like a rubber band. Then, he watched as it snapped.

“Callum!” Owen barked. “The least you could do is wear a condom if you’re gonna fuck me!” He yelled out in the quiet warehouse.

Callum froze. He turned around slowly, and Curt could tell Owen had touched a nerve. “What did you say to me?”

“You heard me. If you’re going to fuck me, you should at least have the decency to wear—” Owen didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence before he was ducking to avoid the punch Callum had just thrown at his head.

“Time to go!” Curt called out, drawing his gun and firing at the goon that had aimed his weapon at Owen. The bullet lodged in the man’s kneecap and sent him crumbling to the ground with a cry of pain.

Owen popped up from his duck and punched Callum square in the jaw before pulling the cannister of nitrostalite out of his hands. He snapped his briefcase closed, the cannister inside, and smashed it across the man’s face. Callum went stumbling backwards, tripping over his downed security guard and falling to the dirt.

“Kill them!” Callum roared, holding his face as blood gushed from his nose.

Owen pulled his gun and fired off a round, hitting one of the other security guards. He turned to run, then paused as two more goons appeared in the doorway to the warehouse. They aimed their weapons at Curt and Owen, and, thinking quickly, Owen yelled out, “Tokyo!” and Curt immediately slid to his knees a few feet in front of Owen and webbed his fingers together.

Owen didn’t break stride as he planted one foot into Curt’s hands. He lept up while Curt threw him forward, and Owen hurtled through the open air, landing a powerful flying kick into the face of one goons, while Curt put a bullet through the neck of the second. The doorway was cleared in less than five seconds.

Curt ran forward and out of the door as Owen covered him, firing off shots at the two remaining goons in the warehouse. Then, he turned and booked it after Curt.

“You gotta drive!” Curt yelled, tossing the keys back at Owen.

Owen caught them and pressed the automatic start. Then, he fired his gun and shattered the passenger-side backseat window. He didn’t hesitate as he sped up to pass Curt, threw the briefcase through the now open window, and dove in after them. He rolled into the backseat once before clambering to the front and shifting it into gear.

Curt was stronger and heavier than Owen; he didn’t jump so well. So, as he watched Owen lithely jump through the high car window, he knew there was no way in hell he would be copying the maneuver. Instead, he slammed into the side of the car and threw open the passenger door, climbing quickly inside. “Drive!”

The two remaining security guards were finally catching up to them, and they fired their guns at the car as Owen and Curt sped off. The back window exploded in a rain of glass and Curt turned to fire a few shots out of the new hole in the car. But by that time, the two men were starting to shrink into the distance.

“Holy shit!” Curt yelled. “That was awesome!” He punched the air. “Wa-hoo!” He yelled out triumphantly.

“Hell yeah!” Owen yelled, equally as emphatic.

“I can’t believe you told him off like that!” Curt said, punching Owen lightly in the arm. “You never loose your cool like that.”

“I really needed the nitrostalite.” Owen shrugged. “He wasn’t going to give it to me, so I knew I needed him to swing first.”

“God, that was awesome!” Curt said again.

“I can’t believe you remembered the Tokyo code.” Owen said, beaming at Curt as he maneuvered the car back onto the interstate.

“You kidding me?” Curt said. “Our codes are like second nature. You say ‘Tokyo’ and I drop to my knees. It’s automatic.”

Owen laughed again. “Look at us. Working together like champs.”

“And Tatiana was worried.” Curt scoffed.

“I mean,” Owen said, “I was worried, too.”

Curt looked at him and shrugged. “You shouldn’t have been. I knew we’d figure it out.”

Owen laughed again. “That’s an absolute lie, Curt Mega.”

“What?” Curt sat up in his seat. “No it’s not!”

“Yeah, it is.” Owen pointed Curt’s hands. “You always touch your middle finger to your thumb when you’re lying. It’s a very subtle tell, but you’ve never fooled me.”

Curt looked at his hands, then conceded. “Ok, fine. I was worried, too.”

“I’m glad to see we were both wrong.” He smiled at Curt.

“Me too.”

There was an awkward static in the car between them, then Owen said, “Let’s get the cannister and money back to the safe house. I’ll need to spend tomorrow building those pulse charges.” Curt nodded, and they sped along towards Orlando.


	9. Torture Tango 2: Ex-Boyfriend Boogaloo

The safe house was dark when Owen pulled into the driveway. None of the heist members stayed in the house; they all had rooms in different hotels in the surrounding area, so it was almost always empty. The house was strictly for Owen and Barb to work and build their gadgets, and come Friday, it would be abandoned once more.

Owen pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. It was just after lunch time, and the early-afternoon sun was creating a thick heat in the air. As Curt stepped out of the car, he frowned and breathed in the thick, soupy air. “Fucking humidity.” He grumbled. “I feel like I’m swimming.”

“Venus was worse.” Owen said. “The sun is aggressive there, and the atmosphere is extremely thick. The AC in the Athena colony can only do so much to cut through it. Even inside the stations, you still felt like you were drowning.”

“Yeah, you couldn’t pay me enough to live on Venus or even on Mars.” Curt slammed his car door shut and started walking towards the house. “Why’d you stay so long?”

Owen shut his door, too, and followed Curt to the porch, the briefcase and cannister in his hands. “I went there because I was hired for a dark matter heist. Once we completed that, I was contracted by the backer of that job to make a new bomb. It took two years, but I got paid a lot.” He took a key out of his pocket and fitted it into the lock, turning it sharply and swinging the door open. “After you.” Owen said, gesturing for Curt to walk into the house.

Inside, the lights were all off and the windows were blacked out, and Curt stumbled along in the dark trying to find a light switch. Finally, he found one and clicked it on. Light flooded the living room, revealing a war zone of technology. “Uh…” Curt started, stepping over a large box of detonators on the floor. “What happened in here?”

“Sorry.” Owen said, locking the door behind him. “I’ve been working on a time crunch, and it hasn’t really allowed me to be super organized.” He winced as Curt’s foot accidentally connected with a box of completed bombs. “Please be careful!” He said. “There are a lot of explosives in this room right now.”

Curt looked down and gently nudged the box away from him. “I definitely don’t miss that part of living together.” Curt said, throwing a smile at Owen.

Owen laughed. “Yeah, sorry about that. I have a bad habit of bringing work home with me.”

They waded through the boxes and loose parts until they got to the kitchen, where several half-constructed pulse charges were scattered on the island counter top. Each charge had a slowly blinking blue light on the top, which signaled that they were active; they only needed a catalyst to work properly, instead of firing electricity madly in every direction. And Curt and Owen had just stolen that catalyst.

“Want a beer?” Owen asked, setting the canister of nitrostalite on the counter top and heading for the fridge.

Curt wrinkled his nose. “You drink beer now?”

“Not at all.” Owen said, pulling a soda from the fridge instead. “I just didn’t know if you did.”

Curt caught the can of Coke that Owen tossed at him, then opened it with a _hiss_ of trapped carbonation. “People don’t change _that_ much.” Curt said, then laughed before taking a sip of his soda. Owen laughed, too, as he opened his own Coke.

“You know,” Curt said, swirling the soda can around and staring at it intently. “We should go out and celebrate tonight.” He sneaked a glance up at Owen. “Like, go grab dinner or something.”

Owen was quiet for a long time. “Curt, I don’t think—"

“It’s just dinner. To celebrate a job well done. Then, we go our separate ways until we land on Eos.”

Owen set his soda can down on the countertop and tapped the lid absentmindedly while he considered Curt’s proposal. “OK sure.” He said. “Why not? It’s just dinner.”

“Just dinner.” Curt echoed.

They stood there, smiling and staring at each other and unsure of what to do or say next. Finally, Owen spoke again. “I should start working on these again.” He gestured at the pulse charges.

“Oh right, yeah.” Curt started to walk away again. “I’ll catch a taxi back to my hotel. But I’ll make a reservation somewhere and text you the details.” He gave a little wave and turned around, flinching as he nearly tripped over another box of explosives.

“Nowhere fancy!” Owen called after him.

“You’re gonna need that nice suit!” Curt said, and shut the door behind him.

Owen was alone again in the kitchen. He smiled softly to himself, playing with the tab of his pop can. He was going to dinner with Curt again. Just like old times...

“So…”

Owen startled, catching his can before it could tip over onto the counter and set off his pulse charges.

“Jesus, Barb!” He said. “How long have you been standing there?”

Barb was standing in the hallway near the open door to the basement. Her glasses were crooked, her hair was frizzy and tangled, and there was a large soot stain on her shirt. She shrugged, and said, “I’ve been here long enough.”

Owen sighed and ran a hand over his face. “What happened to your shirt?”

Barb looked down at the grey cloth. “Small explosion. It’s fine.” She shuffled over to the fridge and took out a water bottle. “So…” She started her original sentence again. “You and Curt have a date?”

“It’s not a date.” Owen said.

Barb shrugged. “Sounds like a date to me.” She took a long sip of her water. “Can I ask a question?”

“Sure?” Owen said.

“Why are you torturing yourself?”

Owen paused. “What?”

“You and Curt. Why do you guys torture yourselves?” Her glasses were still off kilter. 

Owen furrowed his brow. “I’m still confused.”

“You’re obviously still in love with each other. So why do you torture yourselves? Why not just… be together?”

“I’m not in love with him.” Owen said.

Barb stared him down. “You guys are dumb.” Then, she turned quickly on her heels. “See ya, scrub!” She said, and disappeared back into the basement, leaving a dumbfounded Owen in her wake.

Owen stood at the counter for several moments, speechless. Then, he put his hands up in confusion. “What just happened?”

One of the pulse charges became unstable and beeped in response, and Owen lunged to turn it off before it could detonate.

\-----

When Curt got back to his hotel, he asked the concierge for restaurant recommendations in the area, and he came away with a small collection of brochures to sift through. He flipped through Mexican and Indian and French and American restaurants until he found one he wanted to try.

He picked up his phone and dialed the number, then prayed for an open table as it rang.

 _“Bonjour! This is Le Chat Noir. How can I help you?”_ The lady on the other end was chipper and eager to help.

“Yes, I’m calling to book a reservation for two tonight.” Curt crossed his fingers in the hope that they would have something.

_“We’re a little full tonight. What time were you looking?”_

“Any time works for me.”

Curt could hear the woman flipping through her ledger on the other end. _“Does 7:15 work for you?”_

“Absolutely. Put it under the name ‘Mega’, please.” He was paying in cash tonight anyway. He could afford to use his real name.

 _“Alright, Mr. Mega, you are all set.”_ He could hear her smiling through the phone. _“Anything else I can help you with at this time?”_

“Um, actually, yes. There is one thing…” On a whim, Curt asked the woman for a favor, promising to tip her handsomely for it. As he explained the idea, he could hear her excitement bubbling through the phone, and he knew she would help him.

 _“I can_ absolutely _arrange that for you, Mr. Mega.”_ She said. _“I’ll let the staff know, and if you need anything in the meantime, my name’s Brittany, and I can help you.”_

“Thanks, Brittany. We’ll see you at 7:15.” Curt hung up the phone and sat down on the bed, firing off a quick text to Owen.

_7:15 at Le Chat Noir. You will need that suit after all._

Though Brittany’s energy was annoyingly chipper, it was infectious, and Curt found himself grinning. He was going to dinner with Owen again. Just like old times. But this time, it would be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short update! But, I've hopefully set up for a longer update next time. We're getting SOO close to the heist, so please bear with me!


	10. Moonlight

The exterior of Le Chat Noir was unimpressive. The square, metal building was identical to the others around it. In fact, it was identical to nearly every other building in the city. The facade was built using large squares of metal in an attempt to block the sun; since the early 2000s, the global temperature had been rising steadily before the passage of the Global Act in 2067, and the temperatures finally leveled off to sweltering in the 80s. Air conditioning inside buildings had to work overtime to compensate for the oppressive heat outside, and in the 90s, architecture began to shift to the metal box design. Only big chain stores could afford the individuality and AC costs of “traditional” building design.

And so, as Curt stood in the reflection of the restaurant, he had to squint to read the sign. The black and gold cursive sign was the only thing distinguishing Le Chat Noir from the sex shop next door. Well, that, and the leather clad mannequin in the window of the shop. Curt adjusted the sleeves of his rental suit and pushed open the door to the restaurant, pulling his sunglasses off as he stepped in to the rush of AC.

The interior of the restaurant was a sharp contrast to the outside; dim lighting, gold curtains, and black crushed velvet greeted Curt as he slipped inside, and a cheery hostess welcomed him.

“Reservation for Mega.” He said, looking past her and scanning the dining room to make sure Owen hadn’t arrived before him.

“Ah yes.” She flipped through her ledger. “We spoke on the phone earlier. Right this way, Mr. Mega.” Brittany led him to a small table in the middle of the restaurant. A black table cloth was spread immaculately on the table, gold napkins and gold rimmed wine glasses and plates completed the table setting. The restaurant was busy and cramped, but quiet and comfortable. Intimate.

“Thank you.” Curt said, taking a seat at the table where he could watch for Owen.

“I spoke with the staff about your request, too.” She smiled at him. “Everything is all set. Your waiter will be by shortly.”

Curt nodded and fidgeted with the buttons on his suit. He hadn’t been this nervous since the night he’d brought Owen home to meet his mother. At least then, Owen had been on his side, not across from him.

\-----

Out on the street, Owen stood in the retreating sunlight of dusk and stared up at the Le Chat Noir sign. He was twenty minutes late. Not because he’d mismanaged his time, though; because he had debated for too long whether or not he was actually going to go.

His phone pinged. It was a message from Curt, asking if Owen was close by. He put it back in his pocket and resisted the urge to turn around and walk away again.

“It’s just dinner.” Owen said, having repeated the mantra so many times in the last hour that it no longer took the shape of words or meaning in his mind. “Just dinner.” He took a deep breath and pushed the door open. A blast of AC greeted him, and he blinked at the sharp contrast in lighting.

The hostess looked up from her podium and smiled warmly at him. “Hello! Bienvenu a Le Chat Noir! Do you have a reservation?”

“Uh, yeah, I think my party is already here.” Owen said, looking past her and at the dining room. He caught a brief glimpse of Curt sitting at a table in the middle and felt panic rise in the back of his throat as a wave cresting from his stomach. He considered making up an excuse and leaving, but the hostess’s friendly smile helped calm his jangled nerves enough for him to say, “It’s under the name ‘Mega’.”

“Oh yes!” Brittany said, “Let me take you to your table.”

Owen followed her as she wove through the dining room, eventually coming to a stop next to Curt’s table. Curt stood up when he saw them coming; his soft grey suit and blue tie clinging tightly to his shoulders. He looked completely relaxed and confident, but Owen attributed that to the half-empty bottle of wine in the ice bucket next to the table.

“Mr. Mega, your party has arrived.” Brittany said, smiling at both before taking her leave once more.

“Hi.” Owen said, sticking out his hand for Curt to shake. He’s not sure why. “Sorry I’m late.”

Curt awkwardly shook his hand. “It’s fine. Sorry I started the wine without you.”

He gestured at the bottle of red as they sat down at the table. Curt picked it up and began to fill Owen’s glass. “That’s alright.” Owen said. “I’ll just have to catch up.” He winked.

A waiter materialized next to them and set a basket of bread down in the middle of the table. “Good evening. Can I get you anything to drink besides the wine?”

“Just a glass of water.” Owen said, unfolding his menu.

“Of course.” The waiter disappeared again.

Silence settled around the table as Curt and Owen scanned their menus. In the silence, a soft melody filtered over, and Owen looked up to see a violin trio playing live music for the patrons.

“That’s a nice touch.” Owen said, nodding over at the trio.

Curt looked up. “Oh yeah. I saw them when I came in. They’re pretty good.” He took another sip of his wine, then silently chastised himself. He’d drank half of the bottle while waiting for Owen, and he really needed to slow down. The wine had settled warmly in his stomach and spread a false calm through his blood, but if he wasn’t careful, he could end up ruining everything. Wine had a way of loosening his lips, and if he didn’t play the evening right, he would end up making a fool of himself.

And he desperately wanted the evening to go right.

They studied the menus in silence, and by the time the waiter came back with Owen’s water, both had made their decision.

“What can I get you to eat, gentlemen?” The waiter took out a pen and paper.

“Go ahead.” Curt said, gesturing for Owen to order first.

“I’ll have the duck.” Owen said, pointing to an item on the daily specials list.

“Same.” Curt said. He didn’t even like duck. He’s not sure why he said that.

“I didn’t know you liked duck.” Owen said, once the waiter had collected their menus and disappeared once again. He was calling Curt’s bluff, smirking over his wine glass as he took a sip.

Curt shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I figured I’d try it.”

Owen nodded, and wordlessly picked apart a bread roll, massacring it and leaving a pile of crumbs in his wake as he tore off chunks before eating them all slowly. Curt didn’t like bread, so he watched as Owen ate his. He smiled softly; Owen had a habit of fidgeting with and eating food when he was nervous. Curt remembered hundreds of dinners with Owen during which the other man silently destroyed bread rolls, pastries, and even an entire plate of chicken once. During their first dinner with Owen’s sister, she’d called him a baby racoon and giggled her high, melodic laugh when Owen blushed. Some things never change.

“How’s your sister?” Curt asked, topping off both of their wine glasses.

Owen swallowed the lump of bread in his mouth. “Emily’s good. Thanks.” He took a sip of his water. “She’s working for CryoCorp in the gene-sequencing department. It’s all confidential, but I think she’s working on cloning technology for bringing back Sleepers.”

“That’s kind of cool.” Curt said. “She still married to Mark?”

Owen shook his head. “No, they split up last year. Ellie’s pretty broken up about it.” Curt only vaguely remembered Owen’s niece; the last time he saw her, she was twelve and asked way too many questions about Curt’s ‘job’. And seeing as how Curt didn’t have a real job, he found it difficult to keep up with her excited interrogations. “She’s fifteen now and has a lot going on. She finally started her HRT just before the split, so she’s struggling a little to balance both her transition and her parent’s divorce. I hear she’s coping a little better now, though. Joey’s doing fine. He’s still too little to understand.”

“Joey?”

“Oh, yeah. They had another baby like a year after we split. He just turned two and is a really happy kid. Looks just like Emily.”

“That’s good.” Curt muttered before he could stop himself. “’Cause Mark wasn’t much of a looker.”

Owen paused and looked up, and Curt opened his mouth to apologize. Then, Owen laughed. “Thank god. I thought I was the only one.”

Curt started to laugh, too. “Emily’s gorgeous. I always wondered how she ended up with a dud like Mark.”

“Love makes stupid decisions, Curt.” Owen said, his smile wavering a bit. “I’m sure we can all relate.”

Curt ignored the cryptic comment. “Why’d they split?”

 “He cheated.” Owen said with a shrug. “I offered to call up Dax for her, but she declined.” Dax was their assassin friend.

Curt laughed. “Cheating isn’t a death sentence.”

Owen shrugged. “Maybe not. But it’s the thought that counts, right?” He chuckled.

The two found themselves relaxing more and more as the wine and conversation continued to flow. They talked about their families and shared helpful tips they’d picked up on jobs in the previous three years. By the time the waiter brought them their food, they were ready for another bottle of red.

Owen immediately dug in to his dinner, and Curt hesitantly took a bite of his food. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great either. He should’ve gotten the steak like he wanted. But, food is food, so he continued to eat.

“How’s your food?” Owen asked after they’d both taken a few bites.

“Great!” Curt said cheerfully. Liar.

“I like it a lot, too.” Owen said. “This was a great restaurant choice.”

“Thanks.” Curt started into his steamed vegetables, deciding to leave the duck for last. “So…” He started hesitantly. “Have you been seeing anyone lately?”

Owen paused briefly in cutting his food. “No. I dated a guy for a short period of time during my first year in the Athena colony, but we drifted apart. Since then, I’ve been single.” He took a sip of his wine. He didn’t reciprocate and ask Curt about his love life; it was information he didn’t want to know and a conversation he didn’t want to have.

Curt told him anyway. “I’m not seeing anyone, either. I’ve been single for a while now.” He hadn’t even been on a proper date since he’d broken up with Owen.

Owen nodded and continued to eat his food. Curt could tell he’d made him a little uncomfortable. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Curt said.

“No, it’s fine.” Owen said, relaxing again. “We’re friends, right? Friends ask about each other’s lives.”

“Right.” Curt said. “Friends.”

It was quiet again, and the two men stared at each other, refusing to speak as both their history and present passed between them.

Then, the waiter set another bottle of red in the ice bucket, and the two were jarred out of their revere.

“Let me.” Curt said, pouring wine into Owen’s glass.

“Thanks.” Owen said, looking around the restaurant in an effort to collect his thoughts. As he became aware of the room again, he watched the violinists nod in the direction of their table before starting another song.

The sweet, sonorous notes of a rising melody floated across the restaurant and landed in Owen’s lap. He recognized the song immediately, and a flash of memory from the first job they had done together slipped through Owen’s mind. It had been a jewel heist at a party for the Sector 12 ambassador. They’d posed as a couple in order to gain entrance to the party and had waltzed to this song in order to subtly make their way across the dance floor to where the target was standing. It was the moment that Owen had fallen for Curt, and they had gone out on their first date the very next evening.

Owen turned back to Curt, who was watching him with a soft smile. “They’re playing—”

“Moonlight Path.” Curt cut in. “Our song.”

Owen’s stomach dropped. It wasn’t a coincidence.

“Curt, why did you ask me to dinner?” Owen said, quickly trying to re-brick the holes in the wall that he’d stupidly allowed Curt to break through.

“We’re celebrating.” Curt said.

“Curt.”

There was a pause. Then, Curt reached for Owen’s hand on the table. Owen flinched and moved his hands to his lap as he looked at Curt expectantly.

“OK, fine.” Curt said, putting his hands up in surrender. “We’ve been getting along really well, and I wanted to get back together.”

Something flashed behind Owen’s eyes, and Curt was surprised to discover that it was sadness.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Owen said quietly as his eyes misted over.

“What do you mean?” Curt asked, confused. “I tried to do something nice. Something romantic.”

Owen swiped at the tear that had slid down his cheek. “We were getting along really well, Curt. I had been really excited to get my best friend back.”

“You can have your best friend back.” Curt said, leaning forward. “Don’t you see?”

Owen shook his head. “No, Curt. _You_ don’t see.” He took a shaky breath and collected himself. “ _You_ want to get back together. _You_ want to flirt and make inappropriate jokes. You haven’t once asked me what I want.”

Curt sat back again. “OK. What do you want, Owen?”

“I want to stop having this _fucking_ conversation!” He said it a little too loudly, and the tables near him shot him a glare. He mouthed an apology, then lowered his voice and leaned forward. “We broke up, Curt. You need to come to terms with that. We were a really shitty couple, and I need you to stop romanticizing our time together right now, because it’s not healthy. You hurt me a lot while we were together, Curt, but I loved you, so I stayed with you. But I’m not going back to that. And I’m done trying to explain that to you.”

Curt sighed in frustration. “We weren’t a great couple, I’ll give you that. But I still love you, Owen.” He paused. He hadn’t meant to admit that. “People change.”

Owen shook his head. “Not that much.” He stood up and dropped his napkin on the table and turned towards the exit.

“What can I do?” Curt asked, reached out to grab Owen’s wrist before he could leave. “What can I do to show you I’ve changed?”

Owen gently pulled his arm away again. “Nothing.” He sighed. “I don’t regret our time together,” He admitted. “But I can’t do it a second time.” He pulled thirty credits in cash from his pocket and dropped them on the table. “I’ll see you on Eos, Curt.”

Curt watched as Owen left the restaurant, his heart resting comfortably in his shoes. He felt like a fool; he’d laid himself bare and had been rejected yet again. This time felt truly final, though. Like he had lost his chance at friendship with Owen again. “Stupid, stupid man.” Curt muttered to himself. “You never learn, Mega.”

As the violin trio played the final bars of Moonlight Path, Curt drained the rest of his wine glass and stood up to leave.


	11. New Money

On Thursday morning, Curt woke up with a pounding headache. His joints were stiff, and he regretted the intense workout he’d done yesterday. Owen had cancelled their final sparring session the day before, and, full of restless energy, Curt had gone out in the afternoon and run until his legs gave out. Then, he immediately began drinking. He hadn’t gotten drunk—he had a surgery scheduled today, and that would be irresponsible—but he’d gotten woozy enough to forget to stretch before passing out into a deep sleep.

Now, dehydrated and sore, he wished he’d made better decisions the day before. But, he almost always wished he’d made better decisions the day before.

Curt dragged himself out of bed and winced as his muscles complained. He ignored the pain in his calves and wiped a hand over his face. He had work to do.

He quickly showered and pulled on a t-shirt and jeans, before picking up his phone and a small stack of cash. It was the day before they left for Eos, so his IdentiChip was for emergencies only. No paper trails twenty-four hours before a heist begins; that’s always been Tatiana’s biggest rule. But Curt had to admit; it was a good rule. And so, cash in hand, Curt left the hotel and began walking south.

As he walked, the fresh air started to clear the fog out of his mind and loosen his muscles, and he began to feel a little better. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed his mother.

 _“Curtis?”_ Mrs. Mega said. _“What’s wrong?”_

“Nothing, Ma. Why would you think something’s wrong?”

His mother huffed. _“Because you_ never call me _, Curtis. So, when you do, I assume you’re dying.”_

“Don’t be dramatic.” Curt said, laughing.

  _“Are you eating enough?”_ His mother immediately launched into her usual line of questioning. _“Are you sleeping OK?”_

“I’m doing fine, Mom.” He said. “But I called because I’m about to go on a work trip again, so I won’t have access to my phone for about two or three weeks. I just didn’t want you to think I was ignoring your calls.”

He could hear Mrs. Mega banging around in the kitchen on the other line. _“Where are you going?”_

“Japan.” Curt lied. “But the clients I’m visiting live in a very low-tech area. They still use credit cards, believe it or not. So, I won’t be able to use my phone until I get back.”

_“OK. But make sure to call me when you get home safe. If I don’t hear from you in three weeks, I’m going to have to sit Shiva.”_

“Ma—”

 _“Just be safe, Curtis.”_ She said, and Curt could hear the smile in her voice.

He was quiet for a moment as he walked. Then, he said quietly, “Mom, I ran into Owen.”

 _“Oh? How is Owen?”_ Curt heard the bristle in her voice as her ‘overbearing smother’ persona dropped to reveal the strong mamma bear underneath.

“He’s good.” Curt said. “But I think I messed up my chance to be friends with him again.”

 _“Do you want to be friends with him?”_ Mrs. Mega asked.

Curt thought for a moment. “Yeah, I do.”

 _“Then you have to make it right. Apologize if you need to.”_ She said, and he hated when she was right. _“If he rejects the apology, then at least you did the right thing. How he reacts is his business.”_

“Yeah…” Curt said. He reached his destination and leaned against the brick wall outside as he talked.

 _“I know it’s hard, schmoo.”_ Mrs. Mega said. _“But relationships are hard; friendship or otherwise. You have to give a little in order to get a little.”_

Curt sighed. “You’re right.”

 _“Say that again.”_ She said, teasing.

“I said ‘you’re right’, Ma.”

 _“And don’t you forget it.”_ She said.

“I love you.”

_“I love you, too.”_

Curt hung up the phone and stared at the screen. The wallpaper was a picture of him and his mother that Owen had taken five years ago at her retirement party. It was a candid picture; Curt had a hand on his mother’s arm and they were laughing about something. It was the one thing Owen-related that Curt had kept all these years.

Curt thumbed over to his messages and pulled up Owen’s number. Then, he took a deep breath and typed out a message.

_I’m about to lock my phone up, but before I did, I just wanted to say: I’m sorry about the other night. I’m also sorry that I have to keep apologizing. I get it now; I was pushy and it wasn’t fair to you. Can we just be friends?_

He clicked send and imagined the message zipping through the air to Owen’s phone. When the ‘delivered’ message popped up on his screen, he pocketed the phone and went inside the bank.

“Hello! Welcome to Mission Bank!” The young teller was chipper and friendly-looking. His nametag read ‘Liam’. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to rent a security deposit box for a month.” He said. “I have cash.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to try out a six- or twelve-month lease? It’s cheaper in the long run, and it comes with insurance.”

“I’m only in town for a month and just want to store a few things.” He said. “Money’s not an object, and I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“Of course.” Liam pulled open a drawer behind the counter and began pulling out papers. “I just have a little paperwork for you to fill out.

Ten minutes later and 400 credits broker, Curt was standing in the security box room in the back of the bank, his new lockbox open on the table in front of him. Liam was waiting outside, but he’d given Curt a very unsubtle hint that he should load his box quickly. Curt pulled out his gun and placed it in the box; Barb would outfit them all with more subtler weapons, and he wouldn’t be able to take it to Eos. He also placed his spare scrambler and his real passport inside.

He dug his phone out of his pocket and turned it over in his palm, tapping the screen to illuminate it. As he held down the button to turn the device off, it buzzed briefly in his hand, and before the screen went black, he saw a message from Owen come through.

_ok_

\-----

When Curt arrived at the safe house, it was dark again. His taxi had dropped him off a block away, and by the time he’d walked the remaining distance, he was late, and his headache was back. He knew better than to knock on the door, so he reached out and turned the door knob. It was unlocked.

“Hello?” Curt said, calling out into the empty house. The living room and kitchen were cleaner than the last time he’d been there; the boxes of explosives were missing, and the pulse charges that had littered the kitchen counter were gone as well. Owen must have cleared himself out of the house yesterday.

“Hello?” Curt called out again, and silence answered back. He shrugged and went to the fridge, looking inside for something to drink. He found a lone water bottle and pulled it out.

“You are late.” Tatiana said, her Russian accent thick with disapproval. She had materialized behind the open fridge door, and Curt jumped when he saw her.

“Jeez, Tati.” He said, unscrewing the cap on the water bottle and taking a sip. “Make a little noise when you enter the room next time.”

“No.” She said, then turned on her heel. “You are late. Come on.”

He followed her through the hallway near the kitchen and through the door to the basement. Downstairs, he found a bright and scary room with an odd group of people. Tables with various electronics and gadgets lines the walls, and a grey slab of a metal table sat in the middle of the room, a smaller table of surgical equipment next to it.

Near the medical table, a tall, slender woman with brown hair and a stern look on her face stood watching him, and in the corner, Sergio Santos sat in a folding chair, flipping casually through a _Teen Vogue_ and looking wholly unperturbed by the situation.

Barb stood near one of the tech tables, arms crossed. She sighed loudly. “You’re late.”

“So I’ve been told.” Curt said.

“My time is valuable, Mr. Mega.” The unknown woman said.

“And you are…?”

“Curt, this is Carla Santos. She is the best surgeon on the black market. She will be doing your surgery today.” Tatiana said.

“So, what’s he doing here?” Curt said, pointing at Sergio.

“My husband insists on accompanying me on my jobs.” Carla explained. Her accent was as foreign and unplaceable as Sergio’s was. “He feels a need to protect me in all circumstances.”

Sergio stood suddenly from his chair, pulling a switchblade and flipping it open quickly. “I would _die_ for my wife.”

“Jesus Christ, man.” Curt said, “No one’s asking you to.” He took a step back and met Sergio’s challenging gaze. Sergio slowly sat back down and picked his magazine back up.

“We have a tight schedule.” Tatiana said, lightly pushing Curt towards the table. “We need to get started.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Curt waved a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Barb narrowed her eyes. “Are you hungover?”

Curt paused. “No.”

“Liar.” She said, striding across the room and looking into his eyes. “Your information packet specifically told you not to drink last night.”

“I didn’t drink!” Curt said. Then, looking down at the cement floor, he said quieter, “Much.”

“You have no critical listening skills, do you?” Barb asked.

“Hey, fuck off, you don’t even know me.” Curt said, shrugging away from her and going to walk back up the stairs.

Tatiana stood in front of him, blocking his path. He braced himself for how she might yell at him. Instead, she placed a hand on his shoulder and met his eyes with a soft concern. “Are you OK, Curt?” She whispered. “Are you using again?”

“I wish people would stop asking me that.” Curt said. He had been clean of nitrilium for six years. Ever since Owen helped him get clean, he had only thought of going back to it once: the day Owen left. But he’d resisted. Even though Owen had walked out of his life, he still wanted his lover to be proud of him. So, he’d stayed clean.

“I am just worried that seeing Owen again might have been too much for you.” Tatiana said softly. “I am afraid that I have pushed you over an edge.”

“I’m _fine_.” Curt insisted. “It was just a little alcohol. I’m clean. I promise.” He turned back around to face the room. “Will you still be able to work on me?” He asked Carla.

She nodded. “Yes. But it’s going to hurt a lot more. And your recovery process will be a little longer.”

Curt sighed. “Well shit. Fine.” He strode over to the surgical table and hoisted himself up to sit on the edge. “What have you got for me?”

Carla and Barb exchanged a glance, then Barb moved back to stand next to one of the tech tables. “We’ll be doing one primary and one secondary modification on you.” She said, looking over the different devices and wires on the table. “We need you and Tati to look like you’re new money. That way, you’ll blend in, but you’ll still be ignored. No one cares about new money, so the hope is that you won’t be memorable at the end of the night.”

Curt nodded, listening intently. He wanted to know exactly what they were going to do to him. Barb picked up a gadget and turned around. It was a bionic arm. The arm was rose gold plated at the joints, with it’s wiring visible under plexiglass. Diamonds, rubies, and other gems were embedded in the bicep in a pattern resembling a constellation, and the fingers had black nail polish on them.

“What do you think?” Barb asked, beaming at her creation.

Curt watched as the arm glinted in the florescent lights. “Wow.”

“Holy shit!” Sergio said, jumping up again from his chair. “That’s bitchin’, Ms. Barb.”

Barb smiled. “Thank you, Sergio. It’s outfitted with an IdentiChip and a shit ton of weapons.” She turned the arm around to give everyone a better look. “Rich people love their bionic limbs, so Curt and Tatiana will need at least one modification each. However, we’re not going to amputate Curt’s arm.”

“Thanks.” He muttered.

“The arm is hollow.” She turned it to show Curt the hole where his real arm would slide in. “However, the metal is extremely thick, so in order to get it to move like a real arm, we’re going to need to wire it into your nervous system.”

Carla stepped up and put a hand on his shoulder, tracing an outline across his shoulder joint with her finger. “I’ll make small incisions here and here and wire the neurofibers into your nervous system at the shoulder joint. If done correctly, the arm should move in sync with your real arm.”

“What happens if it’s not done correctly?” Curt asked.

“Best case scenario? It itches a lot and doesn’t work. Worst case? You lose that arm for real.”

Curt swallowed. “Have you done this before?”

“No.” Carla said.

“Awesome.” Curt said. “Why doesn’t Tatiana have to do this?”

“I have mine.” Tatiana said. She reached down and swept up one side of her skirt. The robotic leg was built similarly to Curt’s arm, with rose gold plating and clear plexiglass over the wiring, and it stretched up past her knee and ended in a gold plate around her thigh.

“Did it hurt?”

“I did not have mine wired in.” Tatiana said.

“Tatiana’s is not a weapon.” Barb explained. “So, the design is more lightweight. She can operate it just by moving her real leg.”

“You’ll be OK, Curt.” Tatiana said.

Curt nodded, staring at the arm warily. “Is that it?”

“There’s one more thing.” Barb said, picking a small box up from the table. She opened the lid and showed Curt. Inside, a pair of contacts sat on a bed of blue velvet.

Curt blanched. “Are you going to take my eyes out?”

Barb laughed, cutting the tension in the room. “No, Curt. I promise.” She took one of the contacts out of the case. “You’ll wear these like normal contacts. Most people do have their eyes replaced with optical lenses, but these will mimic the movements. They won’t be wired into you, so they’ll move on their own, but as long as you don’t get too close to anyone, no one will notice.”

Curt took the contacts in his hand and carefully put both of them in. He watched as the contacts moved independently of him, the irises contracting and expanding as it mimicked the focus setting of camera lenses.

“Creepy.” Curt said.

“We need to get started.” Carla said, glancing at her watch. “I’m running out of time before we need to get home to our babysitter.” She nodded at Curt. “Take your shirt off and lay down.”

Curt did as he was told, pulling his shirt off and laying down on the cold metal. “You’re going to sedate me, right?”

“No.” Carla said, putting a hand on Curt’s chest to stop him from sitting back up in shock.

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t sedate you. I need your nerves firing normally to make sure that the wiring is done properly. That’s why we asked you not to drink.” She huffed.

“So, you’re just going to operate on me fully awake?”

“It wouldn’t hurt as bad if you didn’t have residual alcohol in your system.” Barb said, sliding the arm onto Curt’s.

“Listen, you’ll be fine.” Carla said. “It’s just going to hurt like a bitch.” She picked up a large scalpel, and slowly pressed it into the skin of Curt’s shoulder.

\-----

When Curt woke, his shoulder was on fire and his throat was raw. He remembered the intense, white hot pain of Carla twisting the neurofibers into his nerves. He remembered yelling himself hoarse as Sergio and Tatiana held him down in the basement of the safe house. Then, he remembered waking up on the coach.

“Are you OK?” Tatiana asked, holding out a glass of water.

“I don’t know.” Curt looked at his left arm to see the bionic limb shining in faintly in the lights of the living room. “Did it work?”

“Try it out.”

Curt took a deep breath, then lifted the bionic arm. It was heavier than his real arm and it required a little effort, but the arm moved as he asked it to, and he smoothly used it to reach out and take the glass from Tatiana. “Looks like it did.” He sat up and took a sip of the water, then swallowed the pain killers Tatiana offered him.

“I called you a taxi. It is waiting outside.” She said. “We are headed to Eos tomorrow. We are going to need to arrive at the airport together, so I will pick you up at your hotel at seven tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll be ready.” Curt said, standing up to leave.

“Please be on time.” Tatiana said as Curt started to walk out of the living room. “Oh, and Curt?” He turned around. “Please do not let your personal feelings get in the way of this mission.”

Curt paused. “I won’t.” He turned around and left again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's lovers to enemies to friends! (And back again????)


	12. Coffin-Side Manner

At 6:45AM sharp, Curt was sitting in a tattered, dusty chair in the hotel lobby, sipping lukewarm coffee and watching as people shuffled half-awake into the breakfast nook. The concierge was standing behind the desk, staring off into space. Curt could tell he had an iMplant, as his eyes had an opaque haze to them. He was no doubt checking his email or reading an ebook. Or maybe even watching porn. People were getting arrested right and left for using their iMplants to watch porn in public spaces, and it was becoming enough of an issue to raise the idea of banning the device. All the more reason for the Life Foundation to loudly take to the streets, and it was more cannon fodder for their argument that bodies should not be modified with tech.

Curt flexed his bionic arm. The tissue in his shoulder was still tender and a little sore, but it would heal completely during the journey to Eos, and by the time he awoke on the new planet, the arm would feel like it had always been there.

Curt looked up at the clock on the lobby wall and watched the hands slowly tick closer to 7AM. He wasn’t going to be late. Not today. He looked down at his hands and flexed the arm a second time. He was wearing a jacket over his t-shirt in an effort to conceal the arm, and he was avoiding eye contact to hide the lenses. People who could afford tech surgery did not stay in shitty hotels like this. If they noticed his modifications, people would be suspicious.

The doors to the lobby opened with a quiet “whoosh”, and Curt looked up to see Tatiana standing in the doorway. She was wearing a dark blue suit with a white shirt tucked into the waistband of her pants, her bright red hair swept up into a ponytail and a deep red lipstick to match. She had a high-heeled shoe on her normal foot, and a heel attachment screwed into the bionic foot, and she didn’t remove her sunglasses as she stood in front of the doors, hands on her hips.

“Ready?” She asked a little too loudly.

Curt stood quickly from his chair and crossed the lobby. “People are going to stare at you.” He said, following her out. “Rich people don’t frequent crappy hotels.”

“For all they know, I am picking up my deadbeat brother.” Tatiana said. “At least, that is what I told our driver.” She opened the back door to the limo that was waiting out front.

“Thanks.” Curt said, slipping into the backseat.

“You are welcome.” Tatiana closed the door behind her. “3543 Clearview Drive.” She said to the driver.

“Space State Headquarters?” The driver asked after typing the address into the GPS.

“Yes, thank you. We have a launch to catch.” She didn’t wait for his response before rolling the partition up between them.

“What time is the launch?” Curt asked.

Tatiana checked her watch. “Eight o’clock this evening. But our CryoPrep begins at 10AM.”

Curt nodded. “What about Owen and Barb?”

“They begin prep at 11AM, and will launch at the same time as us.” Tatiana gestured to a garment bag on the seat next to Curt. “I brought you a suit. You will need to put it on.”

Curt unzipped the grey bag and pulled out a sleek, white suit with a black button-up underneath. He whistled through his teeth. “Fancy.”

“This is just for the journey to Eos. I packed us better clothes for the actual job night; they are a lot flashier.” Tatiana explained.

Curt pulled his jacket and t-shirt off, and began to button up the silk black shirt. He fumbled with the buttons, the bionic arm making the simple task a lot harder. Finally, Tatiana reached out and helped him finish fastening the shirt. “Thanks.” Curt mumbled, a little embarrassed that he couldn’t manage a simple task alone.

“The bionic arm can be hard to get used to.” Tatiana said with a shrug. “I had one on my last job.”

Curt slid the white suit jacket on and tugged on the lapels to straighten it. Both the shirt and the jacket had the left arm removed so that his robotic arm could be fully displayed. It would make using the weapons on it easier, but Curt felt slightly exposed. “I thought we were trying not to draw attention to ourselves.” Curt said, gesturing to the missing sleeve. “Exposed hardware and flashy clothes aren’t exactly subtle.”

“To you, maybe.” Tatiana said dismissively. “But to the very rich? To stand out is to blend in. We cannot risk being stared at too closely, so we will need to match their style.” She gestured to the suit. “Hence the flair.”

“Got it.” Curt said, then went to unbutton his jeans. He paused, looked up at Tatiana, and said, “Are you going to watch, or can I get some privacy?”

She slid her sunglasses back on and turned to look out the window. Curt struggled with the buttons on his jeans and on the white suit pants, but eventually, he managed to finish getting changed. He smoothed the legs of the pants as best as he could, then sat back against the seat with a sigh. “Finished.”

Tatiana turned around and looked at him appraisingly. “You look nice.”

“Thanks.” Curt nodded. “You, too.” He noticed for the first time that Tatiana also had contacts in. He tapped the side of his face. “They’re freaky, right?” He asked. “Moving around on their own.”

“Mine are real.” Tatiana said, and Curt watched as the lenses contracted slightly to zoom in.

“Really?”

“I had my eyes replaced on Monday.” She said with a shrug. “I could afford it, and it is a minor modification, so I decided to have it done before the job.”

“You didn’t strike me as a Modder.” Curt said, leaning closer to look at her eyes.

“I am not.” Tatiana said,  leaning back and pushing Curt away gently. “This is different.”

Curt shrugged. “Mods are mods, and it’s a slippery slope.”

Tatiana didn’t respond, and they rode in silence for a while. Curt stared out the tinted windows and made a game out of counting how many Disney-owned stores they passed. He’d counted to twenty-five before Tatiana spoke again.

“You are going to play nice with Owen, yes?”

Curt rolled his eyes. “Stop worrying about us.”

“No.” She said simply. “You are my crew, you are my problem. Will you and Owen be able to manage working together?”

Curt glared at her. “Yes, Tati. We’re fine. Why? Did Owen say something.”

She shook her head. “No, but Barb mentioned that he showed up to the safe house on Tuesday night drunk and upset. She said you had had dinner together that night, and she was concerned that you two would, how did she put it, ‘fuck everything sideways’.”

Curt frowned. “I’m not responsible for Owen’s actions.”

“No, but you are responsible for Curt’s.” She picked up a magazine from the stack on the inside of the limo door and began to flip through one. “And Curt better behave himself.”

Curt crossed his arms and fumed silently in his chair. Then, he said, “You were there, Tati. When Owen left, you were the one I went to. You know how badly I was hurt.” He looked at her now. “So why would you knowingly force us to work together?”

Tatiana looked up from her magazine. “Sometimes, Curt, the only way out is through.”

The car slowed to a stop, and the partition lowered. “We’re here!” The driver announced.

\-----

The interior of Space State was modeled in an homage to science fiction movies from the early 21st century; everything was white, clean, and accented with chrome. The high-vaulted ceiling seemed to go on for miles, and floor-to-ceiling windows let the blazing sun pour in. It was blinding and a little disorienting.

Curt filed through the lobby behind Tatiana, letting her navigate the busy launch port as he took in his surroundings. A lonely Starbucks kiosk was the only splash of color in the vast, open-concept space, and Curt was tempted to slip away and get in line. But Tatiana was moving quickly and he had to nearly jog to keep up. People were bustling about the lobby and entering through different doors; everyone converging on a single check-in desk. A large sign next to the desk read “Please have your ticket and your IdentiChip ready for scan”.

“Here.” Tatiana said, handing him a paper ticket. “You will need this.”

“Yes, dear.” Curt said with a sigh. He had made a character choice in the car, and had decided that he would be playing an exasperated husband the whole trip. Tatiana narrowed her eyes at him.

“Next please!” The cheery clerk said, and Tatiana and Curt stepped up to the counter. The clerk had a bright smile to match long, white-blond hair, and a nametag that read “Lucy. Him/His”.

“We are on the eight o’clock launch to Eos.” Tatiana said, handing over her ticket.

Lucy looked over her ticket, then scanned it and handed it back. “Please hold out your IdentiChip for verification.” He said, and scanned Tatiana’s wrist as she held it out. His computer made a beeping noise, and he smiled at her. “Alright, Mrs. Saunders, you are all set! Please step through the gate and proceed to Waiting Room 5. Down the hall and to your left.”

“Thank you.” Tatiana smiled warmly at him, then stepped through the large metal doors that had swung open on their left.

“Hello!” Lucy greeted Curt next, reaching out for his ticket. “How are you today?”

“Good.” Curt said. “I’d be better if the wife hadn’t insisted on such an expensive vacation.” He rolled his eyes. The acting was his favorite part of a job, and he was really leaning in to the annoyance.

“Mars is lovely this time of year.” Lucy said, and Curt could tell that he wasn’t actually listening. He scanned Curt’s ticket and gave it back. “Please hold out your IdentiChip for verification.” Curt held his robotic arm out, and Lucy scanned the chip. The doors to his left swung open again. “Waiting Room 5, please!” He waved Curt off and began to help the next person in line.

Curt slowly stepped through the doors, pulling his suitcase out of the way before it could get caught in them. He found himself standing in a much dingier corridor. The hallway was greyish-green and poorly lit, with doors lining both sides. Numbers were painted on each door in white paint, and Curt looked at Tatiana with a look of slight horror. “We may be murdered in this hallway.”

Tatiana started walking, and said jokingly, “I sure hope so.”

Curt followed Tatiana silently down the hall until they came to a stop in front of Waiting Room 5. Tatiana pushed open the door and stepped inside. This room was white again and looked like a doctor’s exam room. A small counter with a sink was flush against the wall and had a variety of needles, bottles, and instruments on the countertop. There were blood pressure cuffs and stethoscopes hanging on the wall next to a second door opposite the one that Curt and Tatiana were entering, and a set of plush white chairs sat in front of two long, white boxes on the floor.

“Those look like coffins.” Curt said as the door swung shut behind him. “I think we are going to be murdered here.”

“Then you will die in luxury.” Tatiana remarked, picking up a glass of champagne from the small table nestled between the chairs. “Loosen up a bit.” She put her suitcase down next to one of the coffins and handed Curt the second glass of champagne. “To our honeymoon.” She winked at him and clinked their glasses together.

Curt drank his champagne in one swift gulp, then cracked the door to the hallway once more, in case they needed to make a quick getaway. He flopped down in one of the chairs. “Now what?”

“Now?” Tatiana took a seat as well. “I think now we wait.”

And they waited, listening as people walked up and down the hallways outside and eavesdropping on their conversations. It was nearly two hours of waiting, in fact, before a young man in a lab coat opened the second door and startled Curt from a light nap.

“Sorry to disturb you!” The man said. “I’m Doctor Pete Epstein.” He reached out and shook each of their hands. “I’ll be doing your CyroPrep today.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Doctor.” Tatiana said, placing her half-empty glass back on the table.

“That is a lovely accent, Mrs. Saunders.” Dr. Epstein said. “Do you mind if I ask what it is?”

“Russian.” Tatiana said, and smiled proudly. “My parents and I moved here from Sector 9 when I was twelve.”

Curt was bored. “How much longer are we going to be waiting here?” He asked.

Dr. Epstein looked a little taken aback at Curt’s impatience. “Not much longer, Mr. Saunders.” He said. “I’m going to begin the CryoPrep here in the next few minutes, then when you wake up, you’ll be on Mars!”

“Fantastic.” Curt mumbled.

“You will have to excuse my husband.” Tatiana shot him a look. “He is cranky when he travels.” She smiled at the young doctor.

“Well, your travel will be over shortly!” Dr. Epstein smiled. Then, he went over to the wall opposite of their chairs and double-tapped on the drywall. A screen blinked to life on the wall and the words “Welcome to Space State!” appeared in bold letters.

“Welcome!” Dr. Epstein said enthusiastically. “You’re about to embark on a fabulous adventure through space!” He swiped at the letters and a new slide appeared. “You are headed to the Eos colony on Mars; one of our most frequented sp--”

“Please, drop the chipper welcome act.” Curt said. “And just get down to the details.”

Dr. Epstein cleared his throat and looked at Tatiana. She folded her hands in her lap and said, “Sorry, Doctor. I think we’re just a little nervous and would like to jump right in.”

“Of course.” Dr. Epstein waved his hand over the screen several times, advancing the slides until he found the one he was searching for. The slide had the CryoCorp logo on it and a shitty clipart of a rocketship. “The travel process from Earth to Mars has been greatly reduced in the past 50 years. We’ve perfected the art of wormhole jumps to knock your travel time down from seven months to only three days! In order to do so, though, we need to help your bodies adjust to the rigors of space travel. That’s where CryoCorp comes in!” Curt was starting to hate the doctor’s chipper demeanor. Why was everyone in this place so damn happy all of the time?

Dr. Epstein continued. “CryoCorp has manufactured a pharmaceutical that will put you in a Cryogenic Sleep for those three days.” He swiped to the next slide, and Curt blinked as the slide filled with paragraphs of tiny-fonted words. “The side effects are minimal,” Dr. Epstein pointed to the words on the screen, “And I can assure you it’s a very safe process.”

“What are the side effects?” Curt asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“Great question!” The doctor said, and he swiped to the next slide. The slide only said “Enjoy your trip!” and didn’t answer any of Curt’s questions.

“The medicine is administered via an injection in your arm.” Dr. Epstein explained. “It takes only a few moments to take effect and put you to sleep, and as the hours wear on, it’ll put you deeper and deeper under until your body is working at half-speed. It will keep you there for three days, then bring you slowly out of it. Side effects are mostly a bit of nausea and headaches upon waking.”

“Is it safe?” Tatiana asked.

“Completely!” The doctor smiled at her warmly.

“Has anyone died from it?” Curt asked.

Dr. Epstein hesitated. “There have been a few fatalities over the course of the years, but as with every medical procedure, the instances of death are low.”

“What happens after we’re asleep?” Tatiana asked.

“Your sleep pods will be loaded onto the ship, and you’ll be transported. When you arrive, you’ll be unloaded and allowed to wake at your own pace in a room similar to this one.”

“Ok, that sounds manageable.” Tatiana said softly. Curt could tell she was nervous.

“Any other questions?” The doctor asked.

It was silent for a long time before Curt shrugged. “Let’s get it over with.”

Dr. Epstein helped them slot their luggage into a space at the foot of their sleep pods, then they climbed in and laid down on the white cushions. Tatiana was treated first.

“Another main side effect of CryoSleep is dreams. The medicine often replays memories for you in vivid detail, so we advise that you think of your happiest memory before I administer the treatment.” Dr. Epstein said. “Let me know when you have something in mind.”

Tatiana thought for a moment, then said, “OK, I have something.”

“Keep that memory in your mind, and exhale sharply on the count of three.”

Curt couldn’t see what the doctor was doing from inside of his box, and he listened carefully as the doctor counted to three. It was quiet for a moment after that, then the doctor appeared at Curt’s coffin-side with a large needle.

“Mr. Saunders, do you have your memory in mind?”

Curt conjured up the memory of his twelfth birthday--his mother had taken him to a park for a picnic. She couldn’t afford to throw him a party, but the quality time together was worth its weight in gold. It was one of his happiest memories. “I’ve got one.” Curt said, and closed his eyes as the doctor placed the needle against the skin of his arm.

“On the count of three, exhale sharply.” Dr. Epstein said. “One.”

From out in the hallway, there was a bang as someone dropped something.

“Two.”

“Sorry.” A voice said from the hallway. “Let me help you help you.” It was Owen’s voice.

Curt’s eyes shot open.

“One.”

“Owen?” Curt said quietly.

There was a sharp pain in his arm as the doctor administered the shot, and he began to drift down into sleep; Owen’s name being the last thought to cross his mind before he slipped under.

Then, the dream began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this instead of packing to move... You're welcome.


	13. Memory

When Curt opened his eyes again, he found himself standing in the middle of a party. The vast room was bathed in golden light, and those who packed the room were dressed in black tie formal wear and dripped with jewelry. The men and women around him moved in slow-motion, and their voices were muffled as if the entire ballroom were underwater. A band in the corner played an energetic waltz, and Curt watched as the party-goers danced in half-speed, smiling and laughing and enjoying their party. Curt was standing at the edge of the dancefloor next to the bar, and a large, gilded staircase spiraled up to the second floor of the mansion.

Curt looked down at his hands and turned them over, watching as he moved at a normal speed. He was wearing a white suit and a black carnation on the lapel, and he had dark blue nail polish on.

“Hello, Curt.”

He looked up and saw Owen standing in front of him. He had on a matching suit and looked healthier than the last time Curt had seen him; not as skinny and wispy. Owen held out a hand, and Curt’s moved without his permission to take it.

This was a dream. Or, rather, it was a memory. The memory of their first job together—the jewel heist at the Sector 12 ambassador’s party.

“Let’s dance.” Owen said, smiling. Then, he lowered his voice and leaned in closer. “If we can cut across the dancefloor, we can get close enough to Ambassador Cutler. We can strike up a conversation with xem, then we can steal the necklace and replace it with the fake.” He patted his suit pocket, where the fake that Tatiana had made was resting comfortably.

Owen turned, and Curt watched as his body stepped out to follow, leaving him behind to watch as the two walked away from the bar and stopped at the edge of the dancefloor. Owen pulled Curt closer and moved his arms into position. He hadn’t known how to dance, and Owen laughed as he watched Curt fumble with the positioning.

Real Curt was out of ear shot now, but he heard Owen’s voice easily and clearly as he said, “I’ll lead.”

The band shifted songs, and Moonlight began to spill out and echo through the large ballroom. The sound was eerily amplified, as if playing in Curt’s mind.

Owen lead them out onto the dancefloor, and Curt watched as they disappeared into the crowd. He lurched forward, suddenly desperate to bear witness to his own memory; to not lose sight of Owen and to keep the warmth that was spreading in his veins. His head spun as he listened to Owen’s amplified voice, whispering earnestly as he laid out the plan.

Curt broke through a line of dancing guests and came face-to-face with himself again. He was laying his head against Owen’s shoulder, giving him a clear vantage point to see across the ballroom to where Ambassador Cutler was deep in conversation with xyr husband. The extravagant necklace glinted in the golden lights overhead, and Curt watched as Owen waltzed them slowly through the crowd.

Curt’s heart was hammering in his chest, as he knew his memory-self was also feeling. This wasn’t the moment Curt fell in love with Owen—that would come later on a quiet night in, as Owen nit-picked an old science fiction movie from the early 2000s. No, this was the moment Curt knew he would eventually fall in love. And to him, it was the more important of the two.

Owen turned them around, and Curt could see the red flush creeping up his own face. He knew what the memory was thinking; he was scared that Owen might notice his embarrassment or enjoyment and make a comment about it. This is the part where he nearly ruined the entire job.

Curt watched as he broke away from Owen too early and pushed through the crowd towards the ambassador. “Where are you going?” Owen called out.

Then, the memory began to change. The music became muffled and the voices grew distant as the ballroom around him began to melt and tilt. Faces became distorted, and the music took on a haunting, ringing quality that made Curt’s head spin.

Curt squeezed his eyes shut until he felt the ground stop shifting underneath him. When he opened them again, he was standing in the house he and Owen had bought together.

He was standing in the entry hallway, looking at the front door. The memory was tinged in blue and Curt could see the fog of his breath swirling up and around him. He was cold.

“Where are you going?” Owen’s voice came from somewhere behind him. It was soft. It sounded hurt and sad and needy.

Curt felt himself turn around. Owen was dressed in a suit and was on one knee in front of him, a ring box trembling slightly in his hands as he lowered it to his side. Curt closed his eyes again as the details of the memory came into sharp relief.

They had dinner reservations at Curt’s favorite place. On their way out of the house, Curt had noticed Owen’s jitters. They’d started bickering as Curt tried to get Owen to tell him why he was so nervous, and finally, Owen gave up and dropped to a knee. And Curt had tried to leave.

“Curt?” Owen asked again, standing slowly.

The words came out of Curt’s mouth involuntarily. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘you can’t’?”

Curt opened his eyes again. He wanted to break down sobbing. To fall to confessional at Owen’s feet, begging forgiveness of his unbelief and finding rapture in the unburdening of his soul. To drink deep of the communion of their proposed life together.

But he was no longer in control of this story.

“I can’t marry you right now.” Curt said.

“I don’t understand.” Owen looked nauseous.

“I just can’t.”

Owen’s face twisted from confusion and sadness to anger. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“No, Owen, I—”

“You’re cheating on me, aren’t you?” He had raised his voice. “I knew it.”

Curt felt the slap of that statement even now. “Excuse me?” He continued to stand there as the memory drove his words and actions like a game.

“I just knew it. At least you had the decency not to marry me and keep cheating on me.”

“I’m not cheating on you!” Curt insisted. “Why would you even think that?”

Owen brought the sleeve of his suit up to wipe at a few stray tears that had begun to slide down his face. “I see the way you flirt with other men. I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Now, it was Curt’s turn to be angry. The ghost of the anger he had felt tickle at the back of his mind. “I would never cheat on you. And I can’t believe you think I would!”

“What else am I supposed to think with the evidence you give me?!”

“You should know me better than that!” Curt yelled. “I love you, you should know that!”

Owen was quiet for a moment, then he said, “There’s a lot about you that I should know. I was sure you would want to marry me. Now I’m not sure what else I’m wrong about.”

“Owen—” Curt said softly, then closed his eyes again. He was crying. That wasn’t part of the memory.

“Goodbye, Curt.”

Curt felt Owen brush past him and throw open the front door. Then, he felt his past-self pull away from him, stepping outside of him once more to go after Owen; to fight with him on the lawn and draw a crowd of neighbors to watch with both displeasure and voyeuristic joy from the windows of their homes.

Curt was alone in the hall. He was a shadow, a victim of his own memories and choices. He dropped to his knees, a wracking sob escaping his chest. He could hear himself fighting with Owen on the lawn, could hear the names they were calling each other.

The tile under Curt’s hands was cold, and he gripped his chest as he struggled to catch his breath and the dream melted around him. He reached out for something stable, but the tile crumbled under his touch. Finally, blackness opened underneath him, and he began to fall.

\-----

When Curt woke again, it was pitch black all around him, and he couldn’t breathe. He reached out, and realized he was trapped with four walls only inches away from him.

It was dark.

He couldn’t breathe.

He began to pound on the walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A week and a half later, a pitifully short update. #justkeepswimming


	14. Eos

When Curt woke again, it was pitch black all around him, and he couldn’t breathe. He reached out, and realized he was trapped with four walls only inches away from him. His fingers scrapped at the smooth porcelain directly above him, looking for a notch or a groove that hopefully indicated he could lift the wall away from him.

It was dark.

He couldn’t breathe.

Curt began to pound on the walls, yelling out and straining against the cool material under his fingers. He needed to get out and find Owen. Or Tatiana. Anyone, really. He just needed to get out of this trap.

“Help!” He pounded on the wall directly above his face. “Let me out!” The bionic arm made a crunching sound as it connected with the coffin around him, and Curt screamed even louder. He couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t—

A hiss sounded around him, then a depressurizing “pop”, and bright light flooded in around him as the ceiling lifted away from his face. Curt brought his arm up to shield his eyes, and blinked rapidly as he took long, gasping breaths.

“You OK?” A voice said, and Curt watched a face swim into view above him. It belonged to a young woman who looked concerned. Long, curly, dark hair hung down and brushed Curt’s outstretched arms, and Curt watched as she punched something into a small scanner in her carefully manicured hand. She had dark skin and kind eyes, and flashed him a brilliant, reassuring smile. Beyond her, harsh fluorescents cast an aggressive light around the room and drilled a hole through Curt’s skull.

Curt sat upright in the coffin. “Where am I?” He gasped out, then winced as a wave of nausea washed over him.

“Take it easy, Mr....” The young woman looked at the name at the foot of Curt’s coffin. “Mr. Saunders. You’re coming out of CryoSleep, and your body is still in shock. Did you wake up slowly or abruptly?” She asked.

“I think abruptly?” Curt cast a glance around the room; hundreds of white CryoPods were lined up in rows, none of them open apart from Curt’s. “I just suddenly woke up and felt panicked.”

She nodded. “You must have been having a nightmare. The adrenaline in your system forced the fremetinol to metabolize quicker than normal.”

Curt blinked at her. “Huh?”

She smiled. “The nightmare caused you to get too excited, so you woke up earlier. A lot earlier, actually; we’re still en route to Mars.”

“How close are we?” Curt put a hand to the side of his head, trying to hold off the headache that was creeping in.

“We’re preparing for landing now. Maybe another few hours before we dock.” She stuck out a hand, and Curt shook it. “I’m Cherish by the way.”

“Joseph Saunders.” Curt was lucky he remembered his fake name.

“C’mon, Joseph.” Cherish helped Curt stand up. “I’ll show you around a bit.”

Curt stood up shakily, but the longer he was upright, the better he felt. Stepping out of his CryoPod, he looked around the room. They were standing in what looking like an airplane hanger; white walls, ceiling, and floor bounced the fluorescent light around in an annoying way, and only one other staff member was in the hanger. A man stood on the opposite side of the room, scanning CryoPods and reading the results on the small device in his hand. Both he and Cherish were dressed in white scrubs and blue caps with the Space State logo on them.

“Do people wake up this early often?” Curt asked, still standing next to his Pod and watching the room come into focus piece-by-piece.

“Never.” Cherish said. “In fact, you’re lucky you didn’t wake up ten minutes earlier. Geoff and I just woke up about thirty minutes ago, and we had only just entered the Pod Room to start our landing scans when your alarm started to go off.”

“Alarm?”

Cherish held up the scanner in her hand. “These are synced to each of the Pods, and if we scan a code on the Pod’s base—” She demonstrated by scanning Tatiana’s Pod next to them. “It shows us how they’re doing.” She showed him the scanner. On the screen, Tatiana’s picture sat next to the name “Lillian Saunders”, and a set of vitals and other numbers scrolled past on the right. A large green checkmark hovered over Tati’s picture. “If the check is green, nothing is wrong, and we keep scanning. If a check is yellow, we need to check the vitals and potentially adjust something. If a vital reaches a dangerous level, an alarm sounds on the pod and a signal is sent to the scanners, and we usually open the Pod and address it.”

“Do you get alerts often?”

Cherish shook her head. “No. And when we do, it’s because someone’s either woken up a bit early, or they have a drop in sodium, which is an easy fix. Most of the early risers don’t wake until we’re starting to dock. You’re the earliest we’ve ever had!” She sounded almost excited about it.

Curt took a small step forward and tested out the mechanics of walking again. The nausea was starting to subside, but the last tastes of his memories with Owen still burned at the back of his throat. Cherish held out a hand near his elbow to grab him if he fell, but he managed to find his footing on his own. “So, what do I do now?”

Cherish gestured to a door across the room. “We have a staff lounge. You’re more than welcome to spend some time in there until we land. We have coffee, books, and some snacks.”

Curt took another step towards the door, and suddenly, a different need was thrown into sharp relief. “Actually, is there a bathroom?”

“Ah yes.” Cherish laughed. “I always forget how badly CryoSleep makes you need to pee.”

Cherish led Curt through the Pod Room and into another bright white corridor. She took a left and began to walk down the hallway. Curt pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Why is everything at Space State blindingly white?”

“Our CEO is Jaxsen Big,” She said. “When he founded Space State, he was the first to offer recreational space travel, so he knew he would be setting the standards for the industry. He wanted his corporation to exude the “shiny and new” aura for as long as possible, so he chose the all-white color scheme.” Cherish paused. “He was also a huge fan of HGTV, and Joanna Gaines Clone 37 was popular that year. She went through a heavy white and chrome phase.”

Curt huffed out a laugh, thinking of the time Owen heard Tan France Clone 82 say that parachute pants were back in, and he’d gone out and bought four pairs from an expensive vintage thrifter before learning that Clone 82 was unlicensed, and didn’t actually hold any of the opinions or critical weight of Tan France. The pants had sat in a box in the attic until Curt sold the house a few years ago.

“You start to get used to the bright color after a while.” Cherish continued. “There is a rumor going around that Mr. Big is considering a re-brand, and there’s hope that it comes with a re-paint.”

“Mr. Big…” Curt muttered, the name triggering something in him. “Wait, is he related to Richard Big, the guy who owns Eos?”

“Jaxsen Big is Richard’s uncle, yes. Richard’s dad, Cyrus Big, founded Eos shortly after Jaxsen opened Space State to the public. Cyrus passed away a few months ago, unfortunately. So Richard technically owns Eos, but he won’t inherit it until he turns 25. He’s 21 now and definitely walks around like he owns the place, but Jaxsen is acting CEO until Richard can take over.”

“How do you know all of this?” Curt was both impressed and skeptical.

Cherish shrugged. “I used to be engaged to Richard.” Before Curt could ask more questions, Cherish came to an abrupt stop outside of a white door with a single black dot in the center. “Here’s the bathroom.”

Curt stared at the door. “How can you tell? It blends in with its surroundings!”

Cherish laughed. “Just trust me. I’ll wait out here.”

Curt pushed open the door, and nearly cried from relief. Both because he very much had to pee, but also because the room was decorated in a dark blue color scheme. He rushed inside and began to fumble with his zipper as he found his way in front of a urinal. Finally, relief. His sigh echoed around the empty bathroom.

Within a matter of moments, however, the bathroom door banged open again, and a young man sauntered in. He was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, unbuttoned and hanging loose on his shoulders, revealing the white tank top he wore underneath. His cowboy boots thunked across the floor as he walked over and choose the urinal directly next to Curt, much to Curt’s chagrin. “Post-sleep piss!” The man proclaimed loudly as he began to pee. “Ain’t nothin’ like it.” He was beaming, and looked over at Curt, glancing down briefly. Curt turned his shoulders in an effort to hide himself better.

“Let’s just keep our eyes front.” Curt snipped.

“I love your accent, partner.” He drawled. “A real red-blooded Sector 12 citizen like myself.” He winked at Curt and reached over to offer his free hand to Curt to shake. “Name’s Richard Big, but my friends call me Dick.”

Curt ignored the handshake, though the name startled him and he worked to keep his face neutral. He finished relieving himself, zipped up, and went to wash his hands. “Nice to meet you, Dick.” He said flatly. Curt heard another flush behind him, and he looked up to see Dick studying him in the mirror. Now that he could see the young man directly, Curt saw that he had bionic modifications on his face and right arm. The bionic arm disappeared into the sleeve of the shirt, and Curt assumed it went to his shoulder, just like his. The facial modifications were a mix of awe-inspiring and horrific. Dick’s bionic eyes were a purple color, and they twitched as the lenses zoomed in and out. Sleek, silver metal ran the length of his jawline, and covered his eyes, nose, and temples; as if he were wearing a mask.

“You seem like a no-nonsense type.” Dick said.

“I am.” Curt said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I was told there’s snacks in the lounge.” He nodded at Dick, then slipped back out of the bathroom.

\------

The staff lounge on the ship was tucked away in a back corner, and painted a horribly depressing shade of grey. Whereas the white and chrome schemes of the public areas of the ship were meant to inspire, the lounge was clearly painted to deter the staff from wanting to spend time in it. Most likely to increase productivity and lower staff morale. It was a pretty standard corporate strategy.

Cherish had shown Curt the different amenities, then taken leave to go back to her duties in the Pod Room. Curt now flicked through a wrinkled US Weekly from the 90s as an old coffee machine worked extra hard for his pot of shitty caffeine. The smell of burning coffee filled the lounge, and Curt looked up to see the machine sputtering out the last of the brew.

“Yum.” Curt muttered, pouring a cup from the pot and wincing as the thick, grainy liquid slithered down his throat. He began dumping packet after packet of sugar into the cup, then took another sip. Still terrible, but at least edible.

Curt wandered the room a bit; there were no windows in the lounge, and he hadn’t seen any on his walk with Cherish. The ship would be landing very soon, and Curt had hoped he’d get a chance to watch it. Instead, he threw himself down on the couch and resigned to spend the rest of the flight in the depressing grey box.

He still wasn’t used to the bionic arm, and the wiring near his shoulder itched. He picked up a pen from the coffee table and used it to scratch the skin around his surgery scars. He wasn’t happy about the wiring in—he could already tell it was going to leave a spiderweb of scars on his left shoulder, and he could only imagine what his real arm would smell like once they removed the expensive toy.

Curt tossed the pen back on the table and sighed. He was bored. This trip was boring.

He stood up and stretched, twisting his back and trying to shake out the stiffness from three days in a CryoPod. Then, he paused. Cherish had told him that he was _welcome_ to stay in the lounge until they’d landed. But she didn’t say he had to.

Curt threw his half-drank coffee in the garbage, then crossed the room to the door. He opened it slowly, then stuck his head out into the hallway. Upon seeing that the coast was clear, Curt snuck out of the lounge, leaving the door open behind him.

Once out in the bright hallway again, Curt started looking for signs or directions; something that would tell him where he was and how to get somewhere else. He moved quickly down the hall, then took a right and then a left. Each time he arrived at a new corridor, he would veer off into it. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but anything would be better than the lounge.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, a voice boomed out behind him. “Hey!”

Curt froze. Instinctively, he touched a hand to his right breast pocket in his suit. The outline of his scrambler and the vial of Narcolight felt hot under his fingertips. Slowly, Curt turned around.

Dick Big stood in the middle of the hallway. He’d changed his jeans out for a grey suit, but the cowboy boots and hat still gave off a tawdry vibe. “You seem lost.” He said.

“I am.” Curt shrugged. He figured (mostly) honest was the best way to play the scenario. “I didn’t like the staff lounge, so I’m looking for something else to do.”

“What’s your name?” Dick started moving closer.

“Joseph Saunders.” Curt said, holding his ground.

Dick made his way slowly over to where Curt stood, then clapped him on the shoulder. Hard. “Well, Joe, you’ve come to the right place! Come with me.” He put an arm around Curt and started to steer him down a hallway to their left. “What brings ya to Eos?” He asked as they walked.

“Oh, uh, the wife and I are celebrating our anniversary. I wanted to go to dinner, but she insisted we do something elaborate.”

“Women, right?” Dick laughed. “All my lady friends—hell, even some of my boyfriends—they always insist on extravagance. But that’s what happens when you’re a rich man. Am I right?” He smacked Curt on the back and let out a riotous laugh.

“Oh, yeah.” Curt chuckled along with Dick, trying to hide his disgust. Curt often had more than enough money to keep himself comfortable, but he hated Dick’s brand of rich people.

“What do you do?” Dick asked.

“I’m an art dealer.” Curt said, rattling off the first thing that came to mind.

“Must be a damn good one to be able to afford this trip.”

Curt shrugged. “We had to save up for a few years.”

Dick nodded. “I can tell.” He gestured to Curt’s arm.

They came to a stop in front of a set of chrome double-doors, a white keypad nearly blending in to the wall next to them. Dick began to punch a pattern into the keypad.

“So,” Curt asked casually while Dick typed. “What do you do?”

Dick finished the password, then turned to smile at Curt as the doors whooshed open. “This.” He gestured inside, and Curt was left speechless.

The room was made entirely of windows, the blackness of space dotted with billions of stars and surrounding Curt almost completely as he stepped out onto the glass floor. Mars loomed directly ahead of them, the red planet growing larger as the ship approached, and comets and meteors raced across the sky above them. Curt stood in the middle of the floor, his jaw hinged open with awe as he slowly turned. He could see a solar storm flashing pink and gold in the distance to their left, and he watched as the storm swallowed a comet that moved a little too close. He’d never left the planet before, but even he knew this was a rare treat. He was standing in the middle of the galaxy. And it was breathtaking.

Dick smirked, then entered the room and went over to the bar in the corner and began pouring drinks. The room was decorated like a lounge, couches and lush chairs dotted throughout. The bar Dick stood at was heavily stocked, and a bed in the far corner led Curt to believe that Dick often entertained in this room.

Curt walked slowly over to the window at the front of the room, gently placing a hand on the cool, smooth glass, as if to convince himself it was there. Mars was beginning to fill the view entirely, as they began their descent. On the horizon, small and growing larger was a colony. Curt could make out several buildings of varying heights, all connected by covered walkways. Parks and artificial green spaces were scattered throughout, a dome of glass covering them to provide a sense of “fresh air” that would be hard to find on Mars. The buildings were a mix of tall, short, modern, and abstract in their design, and all were the same blinding shade of white as the Space State ship. The casino was the only building that stuck out; it’s hexagonal shape and the bright flashing lights on it’s exterior set it apart instantly. The colony was both massive and stunning. Curt couldn’t believe he was really standing there, staring out of a spaceship as another planet approached.

Dick came up quietly next to him and offered him a glass of scotch. “Joe,” He said, gesturing to the colony sprawling ahead of them. “Welcome to what I do.” He took a sip of the scotch, then put a hand on Curt’s shoulder. “Welcome to Eos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so close to heist time...


	15. VIP

When the ship landed and docked at Eos, Curt excused himself from Dick to make his way back to the Pod Room. He would need to find out where Tatiana’s Pod was going and be there when she woke up. Cherish told him that his best option would be to ride in his pod to the waiting room he and Tatiana had been assigned, then to wait until she woke up.

Curt had been hesitant to go back into the dark of his Pod, but he crawled in anyway and watched as Cherish sealed the lid once more and the world went black.

He laid quietly for about an hour, feeling as the Pod moved; rocking gently, moving up and down, and even a sliding motion at one point. It was disorienting, and he was close to screaming again when the lid opened up, and light poured in once more.

“Oh hello!” The doctor standing over him said. “You’re awake!”

Curt sat up, a wave of nausea cresting momentarily, then falling away again. “Yeah. Is my wife awake yet?” He asked.

The doctor glanced over at Tatiana. “Not yet. She should be asleep for another hour and a half or so.” He reached out a hand and helped Curt climb out of the Pod. Then, he handed Curt a key. “I already took your luggage out,” He gestured to two suitcases next to the door. “This is your waiting room. You’ll both travel back in these pods, so you’ll want to lock up and make note of the room number when you leave. The hallway outside leads directly to the hotel lobby, so you can check-in to your rooms once your wife is awake.”

Curt nodded. “Thanks.”

“Do you have any questions?” The doctor asked, clearly anxious to get to the next set of travelers.

“No, I’m fine.” Curt sat down in a chair. The waiting room here was very similar to the one back on Earth; small and white, with two chairs and small sink area. There was no champagne this time.

“Excellent. Have a great stay on Eos!” The doctor said, then slipped out of the room.

Curt counted to five, then stood up again. There was no way he was sitting in this room for an hour and a half waiting for Tatiana to wake up. While the cat’s away, the mice play, and Curt was going exploring.

He slipped out into the hallway, making a mental note that they were in room 115, then began to walk briskly down the bright white hall towards the lobby.

Thankfully, Eos had a different color scheme that of Space State. The lobby of the hotel was massive and decorated in warm golds and reds with several potted plants adding vibrant greens to the space. It felt welcoming. A giant gold reception desk sat in the middle of the room, and elevators to the rooms were on the wall directly behind it. Furniture was spread out throughout the space, and a large piano was on the wall directly to Curt’s left, a Clockwork seated on the bench playing a soft but lively tune.

The room was shaped like an octagon, with several tunnel entrances on each of the walls. The signs above the entrances directed patrons to where each tunnel led. The signs said things like “swimming pool”, “Central Park”, and “Zipline”.

Curt scanned the signs, then found the one for “Big’s Casino”. It wasn’t the smartest move to show up and wander around a target before you robbed it, but Curt was bored and curious—a deadly combination for him. So, he set off down the tunnel for the casino.

The tunnels were long and made mostly of glass, so Curt could see the buildings around him, as well as the sky above him as he walked. He passed several buildings with several more tunnels branching off from them, some of them intersecting with his tunnel, and others reaching different parts of the resort. He walked for about five minutes before the tunnel began to widen and several other tunnels merged with his.

Then, the entrance to the Casino loomed before him. A rather large crowd of people had joined him in the tunnel, all laughing and enjoying themselves as they drew nearer to the casino. The bright lights and sounds of the gaming floor began to drift into the tunnel, and a rush of excitement flowed through Curt. Suddenly, the tunnel ended, and Curt was standing on red shag carpet at the top of a staircase. The crowd behind him didn’t stop, but rather continued to flow around him and out onto the casino floor.

The floor was massive and shaped like a pentagon. Just like Tatiana’s blueprints, game tables and slot machines and roulette wheels scattered around the floor below, all positioned around a massive stage in the center where Surrogates and holographic women and men danced to a song being piped through the ceiling. Lights on the machines flashed, and electronic noises from them pinged around the room.

It was only three in the afternoon, but the patrons of the casino were already drunk, laughing and yelling, winning and losing.

Curt walked slowly down the stairs and onto the floor of the casino. He considered turning back and waiting for Tatiana; this was a place he could easily get lost in, and the last thing he wanted was an angry and tired Tati finding him here. He turned around and looked at the tunnel again, getting ready to give up on exploring and go back to the waiting room. However, the choice was made for him.

“Joe!” A booming voice called out across the casino, and Curt winced. He turned slowly and, sure enough, Dick Big was moving through the crowd towards him.

“Not this fuckin guy again.” Curt muttered, then grimaced out a small smile as Dick clapped him on the shoulder.

“Come here, my friend. You don’t belong out here on the casino floor.” He had a slightly disgusted tone.

Curt blanched momentarily. “I don’t?”

“No, of course not! I’ll get you into the VIP Lounge. You can relax a little before your wife wakes up and you have to do all the boring shit she’s got on the itinerary.” Dick laughed loudly and led him to a door on the opposite edge of the casino floor. The door was painted a deep red with a gold star in the middle, and a grumpy-looking man the size of a refrigerator stood in front of it. “Hey Bruce.” Dick greeted him. “Go ahead and let my friend Joe in and put whatever he gets down as a house treat.” Bruce reached out and swung the door open, refusing to even smile or acknowledge that the two men were standing in front of him. As the door opened, Curt could see a wooden staircase rising up to a second level. “Thanks, Brucey!” Dick said cheerfully, then turned to Curt. “Go on in and enjoy yourself. Tell the waitress “house blue” sent you, and they’ll give you anything you want for free.”

“Oh wow.” Curt said. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Nonsense!” Dick said, pounding him on the back with his bionic arm. Curt had the feeling that, if he were to keep running into Dick, he’d have bruises all over his torso by the end of the trip. “You’re my friend!” Dick continued. “I have to run to a meeting, but if you’re still here when I get back, we’ll do body shots!”

Dick turned around and left before Curt had a chance to ask whose body they’d be taking shots off of. He hoped it wasn’t his.

Bruce looked like he was getting impatient, so before Curt had a chance to think through the decision, he took a step forward and into the dark, narrow hallway beyond the door. Then, the door clicked shut behind him.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting in the passageway, and once they did, he took a brief look around. The stairs were the only thing in the small room, and they led up at a steep angle to another door directly above him. Slowly, he started to climb.

As he got closer to the top, he began to hear faint, pulsing music drifting from under the door, and the light coming from behind it was gradually shifting colors. Curt reached the top of the stairs, hesitated a moment, then turned the knob and stepped inside the room.

The VIP Lounge was exactly that—lush red carpet muffled the conversations of the immaculately dressed women and men draped across leather sofas. The furniture all had underlighting, a soft pulsing light that shifted through different colors, and a crystal chandelier hung from the high-vaulted ceiling, spilling soft yellow light from above. Music seemed to seep directly up from the carpet, and Curt couldn’t figure out where it was actually coming from. A smoky haze filled the room, adding to the feeling of confidentiality. As if one could indulge in any fantasy here, and no one would ever know.

In the corner on a stage, a naked, holographic woman danced seductively to the music, and several Surrogates stood in a line next to it. A bar on the back wall was stocked full of top shelf liquor, and in a final corner, a giant cylindrical fish tank held a swarm of jellyfish, floating lazily and giving off a soft blue haze. There were five other people in the room, as well as two waitresses and a bartender. Two women sat on one of the couches, feeding each other cherries and tablets of some kind of drug. Each of them had heavy modifications; the woman on the right had both of her legs modified, as well as titanium plates on top of her skin where her vertebrae would sit. The woman on the left had her arm modified. The hand, wrist, and elbow were similar to Curt’s modification, but her bicep was a functioning fish tank, and Curt watched with awe as the one tiny, brilliantly colored fish swum around her arm. The modification continued up her shoulder, across her chest, and up her neck; a small silver necklace rested on the metal and made a small pinging sound as she leaned in to kiss her partner.

On another couch, a man was receiving a lap dance from one of the Surrogates as he drank champagne out of a bottle. His left arm and right leg were modified, as well as his cheekbones and nose. The facial mods had diamonds embedded in them, and emeralds dotted his arm. Finally, a couple sat on the couch nearest to him, the woman draped across the man’s lap and deep in conversation. Curt figured they must be new to the lifestyle, because only her fingers were modified, and her partner’s left leg had a basic modification similar to Tatiana’s.

A waitress finally spotted Curt standing next to the door and came over to him. She was dressed in a simple black dress and had no modifications—the staff on Eos were clearly meant to stand out, and not in a good way. “Can I help you, sir?” She asked.

“Yes, house blue sent me?” He said, feeling completely out of his element.

“Oh!” She looked surprised. “Certainly. Why don’t you have a seat over here?” She gestured to a small leather chair near the couch with the new-money couple. Curt walked over and sat down slowly. The chair was comfortable, and though he seemed to be seated in almost the center of the room, he felt he had sufficient privacy. “What can I get you to drink? It’s free, so I would suggest something expensive.” She laughed a high, melodious laugh, and the woman with the metal fingers shot her a dirty look.

“I’ll take a glass of your most expensive whiskey, then.” Curt said, giving her a small smile. She turned around and strode across the room to the bartender. Meanwhile, Curt turned his head to watch the jellyfish. The tank they were in was huge, but he couldn’t imagine how difficult they were to keep alive on Mars. The creatures were hard enough to keep alive on Earth, and the gravity was normal there!

When the waitress brought back Curt’s whiskey, he pointed at the tank. “Are those things hard to keep?” He asked, then took a sip of his drink. It was strong.

The waitress nodded. “Oh yeah, and they don’t keep long. The Big family haven’t figured out how breed them in Mar’s gravity yet. The jellies come to us from Earth, then they live about a month before we have to replace them. They get shipped here with all the other plants. Everything dies really quickly, so they’re thrown away and someone orders more. Well, except the grass. They spliced the seed with weed DNA, and now it grows like wildfire.” She shrugged.

“That’s really wasteful.” Curt muttered.

“Yeah, but, the way I see it: the more money you have, the more waste you feel you’re allowed to generate.” She shrugged again. “Can I get you anything else?” When Curt shook his head, the waitress waved at one of the Surrogates. “OK! If you need anything, just let me know.”

Curt nodded, then watched warily as a female-coded Surrogate sauntered over to him. She put a hand on his shoulder gently and leaned down, allowing Curt to see down her shirt. He was unimpressed. “What can I do for you?” The voice and her mouth didn’t quite match up, and Curt figured she must have a stiff jaw bolt, and no one had bothered to open her up and oil it for a while.

“Thanks, but you’re not my type.” Curt said, taking another long pull on his drink.

“I understand.” The Surrogate stood up straight again, then Curt watched as her coding began to shift. The features of her face melted and blended together, and the body shape also began to fill out and change. After only a moment, a male-coded Surrogate stood in front of him. “I can be whoever you want me to be.” The voice was now deeper, though the words and mouth still didn’t match up. The Surrogate was cute, and very, very tempting; tall and muscular with short brown hair and dark eyes. Somehow, it had managed to peg his type. Curt reached out and ran a hand down the robot’s arm, feeling the smooth, perfect skin and hard metal underneath. And, it was free…

“Thanks.” Curt said, pulling his arm back abruptly. “But that’s not what I came here for.”

The Surrogate nodded, then silently went back to stand against the wall with its comrades. It showed only a blank expression as it stood there motionless, and Curt shivered. Surrogates had their benefits, but their creepy, empty stares were not something coding could fix.

“What _are_ you here for?” A voice next to him asked, and he jumped. The woman with the metal fingers had moved down to the end of the couch where she could talk to him. Her companion had moved with her, and they were both leaning in closer to him.

“Excuse me?” Curt said, both out of shock and indignation. Quite frankly, it was none of her business, and she should know better than to ask strangers that question while sitting in a seedy VIP Lounge.

She reached out a hand and Curt shook it, the cool metal of her fingertips gliding across his palm. “I’m Gloria. This is Raphael.” Curt shook the man’s hand. “We’re here to have some fun.”

Curt shrugged a bit but remained wary. “I guess you could say I’m here to have fun as well.”

“Excellent.” She reached down the front of her lowcut dress and pulled out a vial of blue liquid. “Want to have some fun with us?” Her optical lenses were shifting rapidly, in a way that suggested she’d already indulged in the drug; the color of the lenses was moving from red to green to blue to white and back again, and she seemed to be zooming in and out on Curt. Raphael’s eyes were steady.

Curt didn’t like the situation at all.

“What is it?” Curt asked, though he had a good guess. His fingers twitched on the armrests, and his heart rate picked up incredibly.

“Nitrillium.” She purred resting a hand on his bionic arm. “Pure.”

Curt was suddenly desperate in a way he hadn’t been for years. His pulse pounded as he reached out and took the vial from Gloria, rolling it lightly in his hand. A phantom memory of flying swept briefly through his mind, and the feelings of confidence and bravery that normally accompanied a trip edged in his heart. He wanted this.

Right?

He wanted this…

Didn’t he?

He wanted…

_A small voice whispered in his ear. “Curt, are you using again?” Tatiana. She sounded so disappointed._

_“You’re not using again, are you?” Owen. He sounded concerned._

Curt snapped his head up and shoved the vial of nitrillium back into Gloria’s hands. “I’m good.” He stood up quickly.

“Oh please.” Gloria clumsily grabbed onto his arm. “Stay and play with us!”

Curt gently pulled his arm out of her grasp. He remembered the feelings of guilt that came with nitrillium addiction; wanting others to do it with you so that you felt less alone. Like it was OK to do if everyone else was.

“Thank you, but I have to get back to my room. My wife is waiting for me.” Curt didn’t wait to hear what she would say next. He strode across the room in quick, sweeping steps and reached the door in seconds. Before opening it, he looked back. Gloria had moved on to the women on the couch across from them. She was dangling the vial in front of their faces, and the one with the fish tank looked entranced. Curt could tell—they weren’t users. But if Gloria had it her way, they would be soon.

Curt turned away and marched through the door and back down the stairs. His monsters would not get the best of him. Today.

\------

When Curt returned to the waiting room, Tatiana was still asleep in her Pod. The lid was off, and she looked like she was dreaming peacefully, a small smile on her lips.

Curt sighed heavily, both in relief that he didn’t relapse, and that Tatiana hadn’t been awake to yell at him for wandering off. He went to the sink in the tiny room and filled a water glass, drinking it quickly to calm his nerves.

He moved to the other side of the room and was about to sit down in a chair to wait, when Tatiana made a small gasping noise. Curt rushed over to the side of her Pod and saw that she was awake.

Tatiana blinked, bringing a hand up to shield her eyes from the blinding light. “Curt?” She asked softly.

“I’m here.” Curt said, then helped her sit up.

“And you have been here the whole time?” She shot him a pointed look. Even with headaches and nausea from coming out of CryoSleep, she was sharp as a tack and had Curt’s number.

Curt nodded. “I didn’t go anywhere.” Liar.

Tatiana smiled. “Good. We should check in to our room. Tomorrow, we have a robbery to commit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the start of the heist! I'm really nervous about it, but I hope it lives up to your expectations!


	16. In the Casino, Church of Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played around with some time jumps and overlapping scenes in this chapter in order to get all of the action and everyone's perspectives in. I hope you enjoy!

There was a sharp knock on the bathroom door. “Ready?” Tatiana called out.

“In a moment.” Curt called back. He was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection. He’d slicked back his thick, dark hair, and he had on the suit that Tatiana had packed for him; it was a shimmery rose gold color to match the dress that Tatiana wore, and a simple black shirt with a white bowtie. The left sleeve of the suit and dress shirt had been cut off, exposing the metal and gems of his bionic arm, and he’d painted the fingernails of both hands pink to match. As he evaluated himself in the mirror, his contact lenses twitched on their own, mimicking the focusing function that optical mods have. He had gotten used to the difference the lenses made in his vision, but the sight of them moving in the mirror freaked him out. He’d be grateful when he could take them out again. But for now, they were a necessary evil.

Curt leaned forward to inspect his face and hair again. He smoothed down a fly away hair and ran his tongue over his teeth, wondering if he should brush them again. Tatianna rapped on the door again and he jumped slightly.

Curt smoothed down the front of this jacket, then swung open the bathroom door. “Yes?”

“We need to leave.” Tatiana said, pointing to her watch. She was wearing a floor length, shimmery rose gold dress with a black pearl necklace and matching earrings. Her gold watch was small and subtle, and a slit in the side of her dress showed off a hint of her bionic leg and its stiletto attachment. Her bright red hair was swept up into an elegant, braided ponytail, and Curt watched as her contacts shifted on their own, just like his had. “The others are starting to move into position.”

Curt nodded, then held out his arm for her to slip hers into. “Let’s do this.”

 

 

The casino was even more crowded than it had been when Curt was there yesterday. With the weekly transport ship having landed the day before, the casino was buzzing with new and returning patrons. The lights on the machines were flashing and blinking, and upbeat, funky music poured out of the speakers in the ceiling; holographic women and men occupied the stage in the center of the floor again, dancing and gyrating to the beat.

During the evenings, security at the tunnel mouth of the casino scanned ID chips before letting patrons in, and Curt waited patiently while a chatty security guard scanned his wrist and let him and Tatiana pass.

As Curt exited the tunnel and found himself standing on the lush carpet of the casino once more, he felt a rush of excitement. They were here. And it was time to get rich.

He smirked at the irony of the statement; most people arrived at casinos with big plans to get rich, but only those who planned to steal from the business ever succeeded. Rob or be robbed; that’s the harsh truth of gambling.

“I see Cynthia.” Tatiana muttered, nodding slightly in the direction of the casino floor.

Curt did a subtle scan and spotted their look-out near the roulette tables. Cynthia’s brunette hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she had on a waitstaff uniform--a simple black skirt, white button up shirt, gold vest, heels, and a black bow tie. She was dropping drinks off at a table, trying to be quick and not take up their time, and as she turned away from the table again, she spotted Curt and Tatiana at the entrance to the casino. Cynthia nodded subtly at them, bringing her hand up to her face and holding it to her ear. They each had a small communicator in their ear, supplied by Barb, that could be turned off and on with a small touch and read the vibrations in their jaws to transmit their message. Cynthia was supposed to be the first to use it; when she had eyes on Curt and Tatiana, she would give the signal, and the heist would begin.

“I see you, Red Leader.” Cynthia said, her voice clear in Curt’s ear. She tucked her serving tray under her arm and started walking away from the table.

“Copy.” Barb said.

“Ready.” Owen said next.

“Let’s go.” Tatiana said, lowering her arm again.

“Be in position in 5.” Cynthia said, moving through the crowd and back towards the kitchen.

“Thank you, 5.” Curt said, and Tatiana shot him a curious look. “Sorry.” He mumbled. “Old habit.”

Tatiana squeezed Curt’s arm, then pointed across the room to a roulette table near the security office. “We should set up there and wait for Owen. That way we will not have to go too far from the table when he picks us up.”

Curt nodded, then spoke into his com as they walked. “There’s a guard stationed in front of the security office, one in front of the VIP lounge, and two near the entrance.”

“Do the ones at the entrance have a line of sight to the security office?” Owen asked.

Curt looked back at the men at the entrance to the tunnel. “Yes, but not a very clear one. If you’re subtle about getting in, I don’t think they’ll notice.”

“Should we set up a diversion for them?” Owen said, and Curt rolled his eyes.

“I think it’s smart.” Tatiana said. “Cynthia?”

“I can do that. I’ll roll it together with swiping the security keycard.” Cynthia said, and Curt watched her disappear into the kitchen on the opposite side of the floor.

By now, Curt and Tatiana had reached the roulette table and found two empty seats. He pulled one out and said, “After you, Lilliana,” remembering her disguise name at the last second.

Tatiana sat down gracefully, and the man at the table next to her turned from the conversation he was having with the woman on the other side of him to see who had joined the table.

“Joe!” Dick Big yelled out excitedly, causing all of the other players at the table to jump slightly and look up at Curt.

Curt hid a grimace. “Son of a bitch.” He muttered. “Hi, Dick.” He waved at the man, who was beginning to grate on him like greeting card glitter; everywhere and impossible to get rid of.

“Name’s Richard Big.” Dick said to Tatiana, “But my friends call me Dick.”

“Hello.” Tatiana said, extending a hand for Dick to shake. The other man cupped her hand lightly in his and kissed the back. “My husband did not tell me he had made a friend.” She turned around and shot Curt a look so lethal, he worried he might vaporize on the spot.

“We met on the ship.” Curt said, shrugging. “I woke up a little early.” He looked over Tatiana to Dick, hoping the other man would not mention the previous evening.

Miraculously, he caught the hint. “Yes, ma’am. Your husband here was lost and wanderin’ around the ship. So, I watched the ship land with him.” He kissed the back of her hand again. “And might I say, Joe never told me he had such a stunning wife.” He leaned down to kiss her again, and Tatiana pulled her hand quickly out of his grasp.

“Mr. Big.” She said with a cool, distant smile. “Thank you for your compliments.” She slid over into the empty chair in front of Curt, in order to force him to sit next to Dick. “But I am less of the friendly-type than my husband.” Then, she turned to the dealer at the table. “200 on 14-17.” The dealer passed the PayPlate over to Tatiana, who swiped her IdentiChip to place her bet.

Curt sank down in the open chair, and Dick leaned in. “Man, your kitty’s got _claws_!”

Curt nodded. “Yeah, and don’t let her hear you say that.”

Dick threw his head back and guffawed. “Man, I like you.”

“Gee.” Curt sighed. “Thanks.”

The dealer wound up and spun the wheel, dropping in the ball. It bounced around the wheel for close to a minute before settling in a slot. “14 red!” The dealer shouted. “The pool goes to the madam in pink.” A shower of holographic poker chips rained on the table dramatically for a moment before disappearing, and the dealer pressed a few buttons on his tablet, transferring the money to Tatiana’s chip. “Who’s betting the next round?” He asked.

As the table placed their bets, Curt scanned the room. He spotted Cynthia walking up the stairs towards the entrance to the casino, and out of the corner of his eye, another security guard came walking past their table and began to talk to a man at a slot machine. The man looked offended, and without turning around, Curt knew Owen and Barb were in place near the security office door.

At the front of the casino, Cynthia suddenly tripped and sent her tray of drinks clattering to the floor near the two security officers. They scrambled forward to help Cynthia pick up the glasses and help her off the floor. She looked flustered and apologetic, and she moved quickly as she cleaned up the mess. Curt resisted the urge to turn around. Instead, he waited with bated breath as he knew Owen was picking the lock quickly behind him.

The moment stretched on into eternity; the mess Cynthia had made was quickly being cleaned, and the security officer Owen had sent away from the door was starting to wrap up the conversation with the confused and angry customer he had mostly likely just accused of cheating.

Curt picked at the hem of his suit jacket, itching in his seat. If Owen was going to get into that office, he needed to do it now. Any longer, and they’d be found out. Any longer—

“We’re in.” Owen said over the com, and Curt visibly relaxed. “We’ll make quick work of the set up and I’ll let you know when I’m in place for phase two.”

Cynthia, with her tray back in her hand, began to descend the stairs. “I got the card.” She said quietly, then changed course to pass by the roulette table.

As she drew closer, Curt waved her over. “Waitress, can I get a White Russian, please?”

Cynthia smiled sweetly, and Curt was surprised by her acting. “Certainly, sir.”

“And a Bud Light for me.” Dick said. “Put his drink on the house blue tab.” Dick nudged him.

“You don’t have to—” Curt started.

“Nonsense!” Dick yelled. “We’re friends! It’s what friends do.”

Cynthia shot him a brief, aggressively questioning look that made him wince, then addressed Dick. “One Bud Light, and one White Russian. I’ll bring that right out.”

Curt pulled a single credit in cash out of his jacket pocket and held it out to Cynthia. “For your trouble.” He winked at her.

Cynthia reached out and took the credit, sliding the security card quickly and seamlessly into his hand as she did. “Gee. One whole credit. Thanks mister.” She muttered darkly, then turned away and kept walking towards the kitchen.

As she walked away, Cynthia’s voice crackled softly in Curt’s ear.

“Anybody want to tell me why the fuck Curt is friends with the guy we’re robbing?”

 

******

Cynthia had been on Eos for three weeks now, learning the ins and outs of the casino, befriending the staff, and searching for a good entry point for Owen and Barb. She hated waitressing and hated her fake name, and at first, she’d resented Tatiana for assigning her the smallest, yet most labor-intensive role of the heist.

But, the woman was a genius, and Cynthia trusted her whole-heartedly. So, she grit her teeth and bore three weeks of grab-assing from gross casino patrons, sleeping in a bunk bed in a hostel-esque living space, and trying her hardest not to cuss out her boss and her customers. She just had to make it through tonight. Then, she’d be six million credits richer, and she could flip her boss off in the morning and quit on the spot.

Cynthia’s shift started at 7, and the heist was scheduled to begin at 9. She was deep in concentration, shuffling drinks around a roulette table and pulling tips out of patrons’ hands, when she saw Tatiana and Curt walk into the casino.

Tatiana was stunning, as usual. Her red hair was swept up off of her face in a fiery halo atop her head, and her sleek, floor-length dress glittered and swished softly as she came to a stop at the top of the stairs. Curt was on her arm, escorting her in to the casino. He looked OK.

Cynthia watched as Tatianna scanned the crowd, her eyes landing on her almost instantly, and Cynthia nodded slightly. It was time for her to start the race.

She lifted a finger to her ear, pressing lightly on the small communicator Barb had brought her last night, then said, “I see you, Red Leader.” Cynthia tucked her drink carrier under her arm and began walking back to the kitchen as she listened to her four team members announce their presence in her ear. “Be in position in 5.”

“Thank you, 5.” Curt said, and Cynthia rolled her eyes.

Curt is a liability if Cynthia ever saw one. He was reckless and stupid, and she could tell that he let his emotions make his decisions. Cynthia hated working with team members that couldn’t keep it together. On her last job, she killed a member of her team before he could expose the whole operation and if necessary, she would do the same to Curt.

Curt’s voice filled Cynthia’s ear. “There’s a guard stationed in front of the security office, one in front of the VIP lounge, and two near the entrance.”

“Do the ones at the entrance have a line of sight to the security office?” Owen asked.

“Yes, but not a very clear one.” Curt said. “If you’re subtle about getting in, I don’t think they’ll notice.”

“Should we set up a diversion for them?” Owen asked, and Cynthia suddenly liked him better. Preparing for all eventualities.

“I think it’s smart.” Tatiana said. “Cynthia?”

“I can do that. I’ll roll it together with swiping the security keycard.” Cynthia said, and she slipped into the kitchen, tapping her com off as she did.

The kitchen of Big’s Casino was loud and busy. A shipment of food came in with new customers the day before, and cooks were yelling and running around as they changed up menu items to accommodate missing ingredients and use up near-expired ones. Other members of the waitstaff, all clad in skirts and shiny gold vests and food stains, moved in a heap around the kitchen, trying to get their food out before running to the bar to pick up their customers’ drinks. She had a small window to get Owen and Barb inside, and the chaos of post-delivery day would mask anything weird.

“I’m going on my break.” Cynthia said, sticking her head into the management office.

“You got ten minutes.” Al said, shaking a half-eaten sandwich in her direction. The wait-staff manager was tall and weaselly-looking, with one bad eye and several nicotine patches stuck to his neck.

“Fine.” She huffed. Ten was all she needed, but she was hoping for longer. As she made her way back through the kitchen, she paused at the storage area and swiped a screwdriver off one of the shelves.

The employee break-room was at the back of the kitchen, and it was painted an off-putting shade of minty green. The lights only worked in half of the room, and the dark half housed a broken coffee maker and a half-working fridge.

Cynthia pushed open the door, then stumbled back as Frank exited the breakroom. Frank was as tall and wide as the half-dead fridge, and his skirt could probably use an extra few inches of fabric length along the hemline.

“Watch it, pipsqueak. You’re going to get stepped on.” Frank muttered. He didn’t like Cynthia, and Cynthia didn’t like him.

“Quit barreling through doors like you own the fucking place.” She said, watching him walk away before pulling a large, rolling trash can into the room after her.

Cynthia was alone in the breakroom, and since only one employee was allowed on break at once, she knew she had nine minutes before anyone would try to come in. Still, she locked the door behind her before pulling the couch away from the wall, exposing a large air circulation duct. She’d discovered the duct last week and sent a coded message to Tatiana with directions. When she’d briefly met with Barb the previous night to get her communicator, she’d slipped the other woman a map of the casino with a large black X marking the duct. It was up to Barb to match it with the blueprints and navigate herself and Owen to the correct spot.

Cynthia glanced at the clock on the wall; she still had eight minutes before Al came looking for her. She knelt next to the grate and pulled the screwdriver out of the pocket of her vest, fitting it in the upper right screw. Then, she said softly, “Ready?”

Barb’s voice floated back through the grate. “We’re ready.”

Cynthia made quick work of the screws, loosening the top two until the grate swung down and plinked on the floor. Then, Cynthia stood back and watched as her teammates crawled out of the circulation vent. Barb was first, her smaller frame climbing easily out of the square in the wall. She crawled out, awkwardly landing on the floor before popping back up and brushing herself off.

“I wish we didn’t have to climb through air ducts. It’s filthy in there.” Barb said.

“At least you fit!” Another voice came from the hole in the wall, and a black backpack shot out the vent and onto the floor. Owen’s head peeked out into the room as the two short women towered over him. “I’m trying to wriggle through several yards of space that is half my size.” He shimmied forward, trying to get his arms free enough to thrust them forward and prevent himself from face-planting onto the filthy floor.

Cynthia huffed out a laugh, then bent down, hooked her arms under his, and began to pull him out. Owen let out a surprised “whoa” and tried to find his footing; Cynthia was stronger than she looked, and he wasn’t expecting her to slide him right out of the duct like an ice pop out of its wrapping.

Owen’s knees hit the floor first, and he groaned as the bones made connection with the concrete. “Watch it!” He said as Cynthia unceremoniously let him go. He rubbed his knees as he stood up, then reached down and picked up his backpack.

“You’re fine.” She said, shooing them away from the wall before sliding the couch back in place. “We need to get moving.” Cynthia glanced at the clock. Her break would be up in three minutes, which meant that Al would be looking for her in about 90 seconds.

Cynthia strode across the room and grabbed on to the trashcan, rolling it back over to the other two. She quickly gathered the nearly empty bag out of bin and said, “I can only fit one, so Owen, you’ll have to climb in.”

“Me?” Owen asked incredulously, then shook his head. “Barb is smaller.”

“Exactly.” Barb said. “I can hide easier as we move through the kitchen.”

“We’re understaffed and over-extended tonight.” Cynthia said, “The likelihood of someone noticing Barb is low, especially because half of the staff are short and blond. The likelihood that they’ll notice a six-foot-tall man dressed all in black is a lot higher.”

Owen paused for a moment, then conceded to Cynthia’s point. “Fine. But we need to move quickly.” He braced his hands on either side of the trashcan, then hoisted himself up and sank down into the can, his limbs folding awkwardly as he stuffed himself out of sight. “Ok, I’m good.” Owen said, then his cry of outrage was muffled by the half-full trash bag that Cynthia threw back on top of him.

“Let’s move.” Cynthia began pushing the trashcan towards the door. She unlocked it, and as it swung open, Al was standing on the other side, hand out to open the door.

“Your break is over, Marian.” He said in a surly voice.

“That’s why I’m leaving.” Cynthia shot back. “I’m going to take the trash out.”

Al looked beyond Cynthia to Barb. “Who are you?” He squinted at her.

“Ashley.” Barb mimicked Cynthia’s bored tone. “You hired me last week?”

Al thought about this for a moment. “Oh yeah. Of course. Where’s your uniform?”

Barb didn’t miss a beat. “I was told back of house didn’t have one?”

Al waved them off. “Whatever, just get back to work.” He turned around and slinked back to the office. Cynthia hated Al; all he did was sit in his office all night making three times as much as his employees, watching as the understaffed crew struggled.

If she needed to kill him for the sake of the job tonight, she would. No hesitation and only a little pleasure.

Barb nudged her from behind, and Cynthia gave Owen a heaving push to get them moving again. The trash bag rustled, and Cynthia watched as two fingers popped out from under the bag and moved it slightly to the side. “I can’t breathe in here.” Owen said.

“Suck it up, we’re almost there.” Cynthia said, and the fingers retreated again, leaving a small gap for fresh air to filter in to.

Cynthia pushed the trash can through the kitchen, Barb close behind her. The staff paid them no attention, as they wove around bus stations, servers, and line cooks as everyone focused on their work. Finally, Cynthia came to a stop in an alcove near the kitchen door. It was under the eye of the security cameras, and Owen could crawl out of the trash can and slip out of the kitchen doors before anyone noticed.

Cynthia waited until a cluster of servers shuffled out of the kitchen and out onto the floor, then she pulled the trash bag back out of the can and Owen immediately sprang up and began crawling out of the can. Barb stood with her back to the pair, watching for prying eyes.

Cynthia helped Owen ease himself back onto solid ground, then as soon as he was out, they dissipated without a word; Owen and Barb slipped quickly out of the kitchen, and Cynthia grabbed a new serving tray before following them through the doors. They didn’t speak to each other as they split off in different directions; Owen and Barb moving towards the security office, and Cynthia on her way to the front entrance.

She needed a distraction, so as she made her way to the front of the casino, Cynthia picked up empty glasses and trash off of tables. She promised customers who tried to get her attention that she would find their server to help them out (she had no intention of actually doing so), and she pretended not to hear her coworkers if they called out to her.

Like a shark, she kept moving purposefully and gracefully through the casino floor.

At the base of the stairs, Cynthia turned back to look at the security office. Owen was standing with Barb behind a potted plant away from the office door, watching her intently. He caught her eye, nodded slightly, and broke away from Barb to confront the guard standing in front of the office door. That was her cue.

Slapping a large, silly grin on her face, Cynthia began climbing the stairs to the front entrance. “You boys need anything to drink?” She called out to the security guards, getting their attention, then snagged her foot on the top stair and threw herself down into the carpet. The serving tray hit the carpet with a thud, and empty glasses and trash clattered noisily to the floor. “Oh no!” Cynthia cried out, then began to stammer apologies as the two guards rushed forward to help her pick up the glasses.

Both men were tall and burly, one with blond hair and the other with black. But both had kind eyes as they asked if she was OK.

“I’m OK, thank you.” She smiled sweetly at the black-haired one. “I’m just a klutz in these heels.” She forced herself to blush. “You don’t have to help me.”

“Nonsense!” Blond said. “We can help you pick it up. It doesn’t look like anything broke, which is good!”

Cynthia smiled again. “Yeah, it is.” She’d been hoping for at least one glass to break to slow the cleanup process. She couldn’t risk a glance back to the security office; she just had to hope Owen was nearly done picking the lock. She crawled closer to Blond as she reached for a napkin that had fallen near him. As she brought her hand back, she quickly and carefully unclipped the security clearance card from his belt and tucked it into the napkin.

The mess was quickly cleaned up, and the guards helped her to her feet. Cynthia considered tripping again, or even fainting, to buy more time, when Owen’s voice sounded in her ear. “We’re in.” Cynthia sighed in relief as he continued. “We’ll make quick work of the set up and I’ll let you know when I’m in place for phase two.”

Cynthia thanked the two guards, and with a promise to bring back a few beers for them, she turned and began to descend the stairs. “I got the card.” She said quietly, then changed course to pass by the roulette table.

As she drew closer, Curt waved her over. “Waitress, can I get a White Russian, please?”

Cynthia plastered on a sweet smile and played the part. “Certainly, sir.”

“And a Bud Light for me.” The man next to Curt said. Cynthia swallowed the momentary rush of panic when she realized that the owner of the casino, Richard Big, was seated next to Curt. Richard had been on Eos the first week she was there, and the man was an ass. His friends call him Dick as a nickname; his staff call him Dick for a different reason. “Put his drink on the house blue tab.” Dick nudged Curt with a giant, friendly smile.

“You don’t have to—” Curt started.

“Nonsense!” Dick yelled. “We’re friends! It’s what friends do.”

Cynthia froze, turning a look on Curt that she hoped would drill deep into his soul and rip a confession out of his lungs. Then, as he withered slightly under her gaze, she addressed Dick. “One Bud Light, and one White Russian. I’ll bring that right out.”

Curt pulled a single credit in cash out of his jacket pocket and held it out to Cynthia. “For your trouble.” He winked at her, which only made Cynthia angrier with him.

Cynthia reached out and took the credit, sliding the security card quickly and seamlessly into his hand as she did, hoping that Dick wasn’t watching them too closely. “Gee. One whole credit. Thanks mister.” She muttered darkly, then turned away and walked off towards the bar. As she walked, she tapped her comm on and said, “Anybody want to tell me why the fuck Curt is friends with the guy we’re robbing?”

There was a moment of silence on the line, then Owen’s voice crackled in her ear. “What the fuck, Curt?”

Cynthia arrived at the bar and put in the drink orders, then glanced back at the roulette table. Curt looked uncomfortable; both he and Tatiana were surrounded by other casino patrons, and neither could answer the comm. But she knew they were listening.

“I got an eye on you, Tati.” Cynthia said. “If this is a problem, give me a signal, and I’ll poison Curt’s drink.” Curt casually turned around in his seat, and when he locked eyes on Cynthia, he shot her a dirty look. “Don’t look at me like that, chucklefuck, you either withheld information, or you were stupid enough to make the wrong kind of friend while on this job.”

Cynthia watched as Tatiana put a hand on Curt’s shoulder. “You look nervous, love.” She said. “There is no need. Everything is fine.” Her eyes briefly flitted up to Cynthia; she wasn’t talking to Curt.

“OK.” Cynthia said. “But say the word, and I’ll take him out.” She watched Tatiana stifle a laugh as she switched her comm back off and returned her attention to the roulette table.

The bartender set the drinks on the bar top just then, and Cynthia balanced them on her serving tray before walking back to the table. She placed the drinks in front of Curt and Dick, and bade them good evening, before turning back around. As she was about to go towards the bar once more for the beers she promised the front door security, Owen’s voice was in her ear.

“Cynthia, is the guard near the office door still gone?”

She looked over. “No. He’s back again.”

“Can you get rid of him?”

“I’m on it.” She switched gears and headed towards the guard. “Hi, Sal.” She said; she’d spoken to him a few times in the last few weeks. He was nice and very naive, which worked in her favor.

“Hey Marian!” Sal smiled when he saw her.

“This is probably nothing, but I saw a dude at one of the poker tables fidgeting a lot with his jacket sleeves. I thought I saw the corner of a card slip out.” She shrugged. “Is that something?”

Sal stiffened. He was young, and Cynthia could tell he was desperate to do well. “Which table?”

“Table 5.” She pointed across the casino to a table near the front. “He’s got on a red bowtie.” She had no idea if a red bow-tied-man was at table 5, but hopefully the hunt would keep Sal occupied for a while.

“Thanks, Marian.” He said, quickly leaving the office and taking off across the casino.

Cynthia smiled, and continued her mission to the bar. “You’re clear, Owen.”

 

********

Owen and Barb stood in a maintenance hallway of the day spa next to the casino. They had both landed on Eos the day before and checked in to their separate hotel rooms; ignoring each other and the others as if they were strangers. Cynthia had given Barb a map of Eos with the duct in the casino marked, and Barb had matching it with blueprints to find the best route for them. The spa was easy to get in to, as the service was included with all resort stays, and most of the security on Eos was concentrated at the casino.

Owen had walked in through the front door and slipped easily into a maintenance stairwell, before running quickly down the stairs and finding Barb waiting for him in front of the vent. “Hey.” He smiled at her. They’d become good friends in the time they’d spent in the safe house, and he was glad to see her again. “Ready?”

Barb smiled back, bubbling over with energy. “Ready!”

“We should get crawling.” Owen said, glancing at his watch. “It’s 10 minutes to 9, and we have quite a bit of ground to cover.”

Barb nodded, then knelt down in front of the vent and made quick work of the screws. It banged down to the floor in front of them, and she affixed a piece of white clay to the edge. “Pull it shut behind you, and this epoxy will hold it in place until we come back.”

She turned and crawled into the vent, contorting herself in the direction of the casino. “Sorry, Owen. It’s a tight fit in here.”

Owen sighed, then shoved his backpack in after Barb, stuffing himself into the vent. Tight fit was an understatement—it was a miracle he could move at all. He shimmied backwards in the vent until he could reach the grate, and pulled it shut behind them. “Lead the way.” He grunted out, then began to move.

The crawl towards the casino was quiet—they weren’t sure if anyone would be on the other side of a wall and would hear them talking, so they shimmied in silence, Owen panting as he pushed the backpack, then pulled himself along.

The only thing that broke the silence was Cynthia’s voice, suddenly loud and clear in his ear. “I see you, Red Leader.”

That was the signal—Curt and Tatiana had entered the casino, and the heist was beginning.

“Copy.” Barb said in front of him.

“Ready.” Owen chimed in, barely able to reach his comm in the tight space.

Tatiana spoke next. “Let’s go.”

“Be in position in 5.” Cynthia said, and Owen began to crawl faster.

“Thank you, 5.” Curt said, eliciting a giggle from Barb.

Owen chuckled softly, too, their comms turned off. “Curt was in theater in college.”

Barb giggled again. “I can tell.” Then, after a pause, she said, “Do you miss him?”

Owen flushed. “Let’s not talk about it right now.”

“Sorry.” Barb said. “It just came out.”

Curt’s voice buzzed in Owen’s ear. “There’s a guard stationed in front of the security office, one in front of the VIP lounge, and two near the entrance.”

“Do the ones at the entrance have a line of sight to the security office?” Owen asked the group.

“Yes, but not a very clear one.” Curt said. “If you’re subtle about getting in, I don’t think they’ll notice.”

“Should we set up a diversion for them?” Owen asked, not wanting to get caught before the night really got underway.

“I think it’s smart.” Tatiana said. “Cynthia?”

“I can do that. I’ll roll it together with swiping the security keycard.” Cynthia said, and the line went quiet again.

Barb suddenly stopped crawling in front of him, and Owen practically slammed into her. “I found the tape.” Barb whispered to him, waving a piece of red tape she pulled off of the air vent. “We’re here.”

They laid in silence, listening as someone moved around the room next to them. Owen heard a muffled conversation between a deep, gruff voice, and a lighter one, then the couch was being ripped away from the wall. Owen jumped, and his hand went to the vial of Narcolight in his pocket, in case it wasn’t their teammate on the other side of the vent. Then, Cynthia’s voice floated softly into the metal space.

“Ready?”

“We’re ready.” Barb said, and Owen listened as Cynthia worked the grate off of the wall. Light flooded the duct, and Barb began to crawl out.

“I wish we didn’t have to climb through air ducts. It’s filthy in there.” Barb said.

Owen rolled his eyes. “At least you fit!” He gave his backpack a shove, and it shot out of the vent. He stuck his head through the hole. “I’m trying to wriggle through several yards of space that is half my size.” He shimmied forward, trying to get his arms free enough to thrust them forward and prevent himself from face-planting onto the filthy floor.

Cynthia huffed out a laugh, then bent down, hooked her arms under his, and began to pull him out. Owen wasn’t expecting to be man-handled, and he let out a surprised “whoa!” as his teammate hauled him out of the ducts; Cynthia was stronger than she looked.

Cynthia suddenly let him go, and Owen didn’t have enough warning to catch himself before he dropped to the floor, his knees cracking as they connected with concrete. “Watch it!”

“You’re fine.” She said, shooing them away from the wall before sliding the couch back in place. “We need to get moving.” Cynthia glanced at the clock, then strode across the room and grabbed on to the trashcan, rolling it back over and stopping in front of Owen. She pulled the bag out of bin and said, “I can only fit one, so Owen, you’ll have to climb in.”

“Me?” Owen shook his head; he wasn’t going to smell like garbage for the rest of the night. “Barb is smaller.” He pointed at his partner.

“Exactly.” Barb said, an amused grin on her face. “I can hide easier as we move through the kitchen.”

“We’re understaffed and over-extended tonight.” Cynthia said, “The likelihood of someone noticing Barb is low, especially because half of the staff are short and blond. The likelihood that they’ll notice a six-foot-tall man dressed all in black is a lot higher.”

Owen paused for a moment, then conceded to Cynthia’s point. “Fine. But we need to move quickly.” He braced his hands on either side of the trashcan, hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and hoisted himself up and into the can. He had to fold his limbs at a painful angle and hug his backpack to his chest in order to fit, and he really hoped he wouldn’t have to be in this position for very long. “Ok, I’m good.” Owen said, and tried to protest as Cynthia swung the dirty trash bag on top of him. And then he was in the dark.

The sounds from outside the trash can became muffled, and Owen heard Cynthia say something before the can jerked forward and he was rolling. Then, he abruptly stopped. Owen listened as a conversation happened outside of the can; a man was talking to Cynthia and Barb, and Owen closed his eyes, hoping they weren’t caught.

Whoever it was must not have asked too many questions, though, because suddenly, he was moving again. The small space was slowly becoming stuffier as Owen used up the oxygen that he’d been put into the can with. He reached up with two fingers and slowly nudged the trash bag aside until light streamed in along with a rush of fresh air. “I can’t breathe in here.” Owen said.

“Suck it up, we’re almost there.” Cynthia said, but Owen could tell she was moving as fast as he could for him.

Owen sat in the partial darkness, feeling a stiff ache creep into his joints. Then, he stopped rolling. A few moments passed while he worried about what was happening, and then the trash bag on top of him was snatched away and Owen took a large gasp of air as he sprang up from his seated position. He wobbled a bit on his stiff knees, and he accepted Cynthia’s help crawling out of the trash can.

Once Owen was standing on solid ground again, Cynthia immediately turned and walked away. She had more work to do, and he and Barb needed to get moving.

Barb lead the way out of the kitchen, slipping quickly through the doors and out onto the casino floor. Owen followed her lead, and he was instantly assaulted by the lights and noise of the casino; the building was packed, and Owen watched as slot machines buzzed and lit up, and people called out in elation and frustration. He briefly caught a glimpse of Curt and Tatiana seated at a roulette table, and out of the corner of his eye, he watched Cynthia leave the kitchen and begin walking purposefully to the front of the casino.

“Let’s get in place.” Owen said, nudging Barb towards an alcove near the security office. The guard in front of the office was facing out towards the casino, so they hugged the wall and came to a stop behind a potted plant. Owen watched Cynthia intently as she moved quickly through the casino floor. She paused at the foot of the stairs, looking back and catching his eye. He nodded tersely, then stepped out of his hiding spot and walked confidently over to the guard in front of the office door.

“Hi, excuse me, sir?” Owen said, trying to seem as unimposing as possible.

“What can I help you with?” The guard asked. His nametag read “Sal”, and he had a kind smile on his face.

“I was walking past that slot machine over there,” He pointed at a random slot machine with a burly-looking man in a suit in front of it. “And I saw him with a screwdriver in his hand. I don’t know if that’s allowed? I just want everything to be fair for everyone.”

Sal’s face turned serious. “I’ll look into it. Enjoy your evening, sir.” Then, he quickly walked away from the door.

Owen turned and gestured for Barb to join him, ignoring the crash he heard from the front of the casino. “We only have a few moments.” Owen said, taking his backpack from Barb’s hands and pulling two tools from the side pocket; one large swiss army knife, and one long, black tube. He handed the tube to Barb. “Hold this.”

“Got it.” Barb said, then leaned casually against the door, blocking him from sight of the casino.

The lock was an old-fashioned key reader; easy to pick if you have the right tools. Owen flipped open the swiss army knife he’d modified, and chose a mini-crowbar, sliding it under the key reading panel, and prying it loose from the wall. Then, he pulled the wires out of the wall, and found a small, blue wire that ran into the door jamb and sliced through it with a pair of wire cutters. Owen heard the lock disengage, and just like that, the door handle turned. “Ready?” He said quietly as Barb handed him back the tube.

“Let’s go.”

Owen pushed open the door and immediately rushed inside, hearing Barb snap the door shut behind them. He wasted no time, pulling the lid off of the black tube and exposing the two active prongs of a very powerful taser.

“Who are—” The guard didn’t have time to finish his question before Owen stuck the taser into his ribcage and sent 1,000 volts of electricity ramping through the man’s body. He convulsed for a moment, then slumped over in his chair unconscious.

Owen tapped the comm in his ear. “We’re in. We’ll make quick work of the set-up, and I’ll let you know when we’re ready for phase two.”

“Aw shoot.” Barb said, furrowing her brow. “He peed himself.” She pointed to a puddle slowly growing under the passed-out guard.

“Yeah, that happens.” Owen put the cap back on his taser and slid it into his back pocket. “Just sit in a different chair.”

Barb frowned, but helped Owen roll the guard’s chair into a corner. Then, Barb pulled a new chair over to the security consul, throwing a handful of paper towels from the in-office bathroom on the floor. She settled in and began to shut down the camera recordings.

Owen pulled rope and a dose of prescription-strength Narcolight from his backpack and made quick work of tying the guard up and injecting him with a dose large enough to make him sleep for close to 16 hours. “He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.” Owen said. “But in case he does,” He set the taser down on the consul next to Barb. “Don’t be afraid to use it.”

Owen then turned to the shelves near the bathroom and located a spare security uniform. As he began to change, Cynthia’s voice growled annoyedly in his ear.

“Anybody want to tell me why the fuck Curt is friends with the guy we’re robbing?”

Owen paused, heat rising in his throat. Then, he snapped into his comm, “What the fuck, Curt?”

No response. A moment of silence passed on the comm lines, before Cynthia spoke again.

“I got an eye on you, Tati.” Cynthia said. “If this is a problem, give me a signal, and I’ll poison Curt’s drink.” Owen’s heart slammed against his ribcage at the thought of Cynthia killing Curt to keep the heist safe.

Cynthia spoke again. “Don’t look at me like that, chucklefuck,” Curt must have somehow flung a dirty look in her direction. “You either withheld information, or you were stupid enough to make the wrong kind of friend while on a job.”

Tatiana spoke next. “You look nervous, love.” She said, and Owen winced at the pet-name. “There is no need. Everything is fine.” Owen decided she must be talking to Cynthia.

His assumption was confirmed when Cynthia said, “OK. But say the word, and I’ll take him out.”

Owen continued buttoning up the uniform shirt over his own, then tucked it quickly into his black pants. Once dressed, he returned to Barb’s side. “You set?”

“Almost.” She said, typing a code into the keyboard and watching as the monitors flickered briefly one-by-one. “There!” She said excitedly. “I’m in complete control of the cameras. None of them are recording, and I have almost 100% control of the whole system.

Owen gave her a high-five. “Great work! Should we get this show on the road?”

“Lead the way!”

Owen jumped back on the comm. “Cynthia, is the guard near the office door still gone?”

 “No. He’s back again.”

“Can you get rid of him?”

“I’m on it.”

Owen waited anxiously, tapping his foot as he imagined Cynthia chatting up the guard on the other side of the door, most likely feeding him a similar line that Owen did.

Then, Cynthia spoke. “You’re clear, Owen.”

“Be safe out there.” Barb said, squeezing his forearm as they walked towards the door.

“You know it.” He smiled back. Then, he addressed the group. “Time for phase two.”

Owen stepped back out onto the casino floor, listening as Barb slotted the emergency deadbolts into place. He straightened the cuffs on his shirt, then smirked. “Showtime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's showtime, BABY!


	17. Showtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday! So here's a present for you, from me :)

Curt was playing roulette, mashed between Tatiana and Dick, and waiting patiently for his next cue. The table was hot, and he had already won two rounds. Next to him, Dick was cheering him on, and Tatiana was casting disapproving glances out of the corner of her eye as Dick slid closer and closer.

Curt ignored both of them, as he half-concentrated on the game in front of him. He placed another bet, and as the wheel spun, he heard Owen say, “Time for phase two.” And it was his cue.

“Oh sorry.” The dealer smirked. “This one goes to the house.”

Curt rocketed up from his chair. “This is bullshit!” He yelled.

“Sir, please—” The dealer stammered.

“No, this game is rigged!” Curt was getting agitated, then he felt a firm, familiar hand on his shoulder.

“What’s the problem here, sir?” Owen’s voice floated past his ear, and his hand melted warmth into Curt’s shoulder.

“This whole game is rigged!” Curt shouted again, shrugging Owen off of him. “Don’t touch me!”

“Why don’t you come with me.” Owen said, frowning and placing a firm grip on Curt’s forearm. “You can cool down a bit.”

“You always do this, Joseph!” Tatiana huffed, crossing her arms. “I am sorry about my husband.” She said to the rest of the table.

Owen began to pull Curt away, but suddenly, Dick stood up. “Now hold on there…” He squinted at Owen’s nametag. “Dupree. You unhand this man right now. He is a red-blooded Sector 5 citizen and my honored guest!” Dick placed a hand on Owen’s forearm and less-than-gently pulled him off of Curt. “I’ll keep him in line, but this is my casino, and I won’t have my friends carted off for a burst of… passion!” He clapped Curt on the shoulder. “Joe here’s just excited. But I promise he’ll keep a lid on it from now on.” Dick looked at Curt expectantly.

“Uh, yeah.” Curt muttered. “I’ll tone it down.”

Curt could tell Owen was stuck. This wasn’t part of the plan. And it just couldn’t fall apart this quickly… If Curt was stuck at this roulette table, it was game over.

Finally, Owen blinked and said, “Alright, but any violent outbursts of any kind, and I’ll be forced to escort you out. I have to think about guest safety, Mr. Big.”

“No worries, Officer.” Dick said jovially. “You won’t hear a peep out of us for the rest of the night!” Owen nodded, hesitated only a moment, then turned and walked away again.

As Curt sat down, Dick leaned over and whispered, “No worries, partner. I own the place. They won’t eject you.”

“Thanks.” Curt said, faking a smile. Then, the comm in his ear erupted.

“Goddammit. Curt’s new friend is causing problems.” Owen said.

“What happened?” Barb said.

“He vouched for Curt, so I couldn’t lead him away. And I get the feeling it will just keep happening.”

Curt slammed the rest of his White Russian and set the glass back on the table. He needed to get some place quiet and alone so he could talk. “Pardon me.” He stood up from the table and buttoned his suit jacket. “I’m going to go powder my nose.” As he moved away from the table, he patted Dick on the shoulder absent-mindedly, distracted by the cacophony of arguing in his ear. Barb, Owen, and Cynthia were trying to sketch out a new plan.

Curt made his way across the casino floor and into the bathroom, the grimy floors and walls dull in a way that the rest of the casino was not. Curt quickly checked every stall and, on finding them all empty, clicked on his comm, “What do I do?”

“Great going, genius.” Cynthia sneered. “You’ve blown the whole operation.”

“I did not!” Curt said. “We just have to improvise.”

“Where are you?” Owen asked.

“The men’s room. I—”

The bathroom door banged open, startling Curt and making him move instinctively towards the sinks. The door swung shut again, and Dick Big rounded the corner to stand at the front of the small space.

“Oh hey.” Curt said, waving a hand awkwardly.

“I know what you’re doing.” Dick said in a low, serious voice, and Curt’s blood froze. “I know your whole plan.”

“Curt?” Owen said, a little concerned.

Curt subtly switched his comm off, hiding it behind a gesture to smooth his hair. He ignored his teammates trying to get his attention on the other end.

“What do you mean?” He let out a laugh that he hoped didn’t sound nervous.

“Please. You’re not subtle, Joe.” Dick said, getting closer. “You and your wife are not a happily married couple. It’s all an act. You’ve been acting strange all night. It’s obvious what your _real_ objective for coming here is.” He practically loomed over Curt now and Curt’s hand inched towards his bionic wrist where Barb had installed a powerful taser.

Dick took a small step back and, gesturing to his entire person, said, “You want a piece of this!”

Curt was confused. “I’m sorry…?”

“Don’t try to play coy now.” Dick laughed. “You’re attracted to me. You want to hook up.” He laughed again. “Don’t be embarrassed—most people do. But most people don’t get the chance.” Then, he stepped closer to Curt. “But you can.”

Curt’s eyes widened in stunned silence. Dick wasn’t onto their plan, he was just horny.

Fuck it. Time to improvise.

And Curt leaned forward and kissed Dick.

For a man who talked a big game, Dick was a surprisingly hesitant kisser. Curt took the lead, grabbing the lapels of Dick’s suit and pulling him closer, trying to put as much heat behind the kiss as he could manage, then he turned them around and began walking Dick backwards, knocking the cowboy hat off of his head as they walked.

“Wow.” Dick said, breaking away momentarily. “You’re good at this.”

“Shut up.” Curt said. He didn’t have much time.

They were near the sink farthest from the door now, and Curt knew it was now or never. He kissed Dick deeply again, then he wrapped an arm around the man’s back and dipped him dramatically.

Dick Big’s head smashed against the sink with a sickening crack and he crumpled to the dirty floor in a heap.

“What the fuck?” A voice said in the quiet restroom, and Curt turned around to see Owen standing shocked in the middle of the bathroom. He wasn’t sure how long his ex had been in the room.

“Help me with him.” Curt said, wiping the corners of his mouth and reaching down to drag Dick away from the sink.

“I can’t believe we’re busting our ass to save this job, and you’re in here making out with…” Owen gestured to the unconscious Dick. “ _This_ asshole!” He shook his head. “Wow. You really will stick your dick in anything, won’t you.”

Dick was starting to blink awake again, but Curt wasn’t paying attention to him. He dropped Dick suddenly to address Owen, knocking the wealthy cowboy’s head a second time and sending him back to sleep. “One, it was for the JOB! I needed a way to get him away from me so we could get into the security hallway. Two, as my ex-boyfriend, that’s a very sad self-burn.”

“You’re unbelievable!” Owen said, rolling his eyes.

“Just fucking _help_ me with this!” Curt said. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

Curt looped his arms under Dick’s, and Owen lifted his legs. “I still don’t see why fucking frenching him was for the job.” Owen muttered darkly as they crab walked Dick into the far stall.

“He was hitting on _me_!” Curt said, exasperated. He hoisted his unconscious admirer’s torso up and toward the toilet.

“You think everyone is hitting on you.” Owen shot back, helping to maneuver the man to be sitting upright on the toilet.

“We can argue about this later.” Curt said. “We just need to get back on track with the plan.” He reached out and caught Dick from hitting the floor again, as the unconscious man had tilted suddenly to the side. Curt pushed him back and leaned him awkwardly against the wall of the stall, his face smooshed against the grimy metal.

“What are we supposed to do, just leave him here like this?”

“No, not like this!” Curt said, then darted back out into the main bathroom and picked Dick’s hat back up. He dusted it off and propped it on Dick’s head, stepped back to appraise the sight, then tilted the hat slightly. “There. Now we can leave him.”

Owen stared at him momentarily. Then, he shook his head. “Fine. Let’s just get going.”

Owen stepped out of the stall and Curt locked it behind him before sliding out from under the door. He checked his watch. “We need to move fast. We’re behind schedule.”

Back out on the casino floor, Owen gripped Curt’s elbow tightly and guided him around. “You need to look like you’re upset.” Owen muttered under his breath. “Make it look convincing, but don’t draw too much attention to us.”

Curt tried to shrug Owen off of him. “Leave me alone, man, I didn’t do anything!” He whined, throwing in a bit of a drunk stumble to sell it.

Owen ignored him and kept walking towards the roulette table.

“C’mon! This is absolutely ridiculous!” Curt complained again as they came to a stop in front of the table.

“Ma’am, is this your husband?” Owen addressed Tatiana.

Tatiana sighed in exasperation, but Curt could see the relief behind her eyes that the plan was back on track. “Unfortunately, yes. That’s my husband.”

“I’m going to need you to come with us.” Owen said. “He threatened a bartender, and we have a zero-tolerance policy for threats against the staff.”

Tatiana shot him a glare. “You always ruin everything, Joseph.” She huffed, then excused herself from the table to follow her teammates.

As they walked away from the table, Tatiana hissed, “What the hell, Curt? Are you trying to get us killed?”

“It’s not my fault.” Curt shot back under his breath. “That asshole won’t leave me alone!”

“You weren’t complaining when you had your tongue shoved down his throat.” Owen huffed.

“You what?” Tatiana said.

“I’m not having this conversation a second time. I improvised and I took care of the situation. Just drop it.” Curt said.

“What’s going on?” Cynthia asked over the comm. “Someone talk to me, please.”

Owen reached up and touched his comm on. “I’ve got them both. We’re heading to the security hallway now.” He reached down and scooped his backpack up from behind the potted plant as they walked.

“Is Dick still suspicious?” Barb asked. “If so, he’s a liability we’ll have to watch for.”

“Dick’s not a problem.” Curt said plainly. “Let’s just focus.”

“Yeah, he’s unconscious in a bathroom stall.” Owen said.

There was a moment of silence, then everyone was talking at once.

“What the fuck did you do?” Barb asked.

“Curt, did you kill him?” Tatiana hissed.

“This is a fuckin’ shitshow.” Cynthia sounded exhausted.

The trio on the casino floor stopped in front of the door to the security hallway, and Curt quickly shut down the noise. “Everyone cut it out. Dick’s not dead, I handled the situation, let’s forget about it and stay focused. I’ve just about had it with everyone doubting my competency. The next person to treat me like a child is going to get a boot up their ass and a swift resignation. I won’t do this job with teammates who don’t trust me!”

There was a beat of silence, then Tatiana said, “Curt is right. We have to start acting like a team.”

“Thank you, Tati.” Curt said softly.

“OK, team.” Cynthia said. “Let’s do this.”

“We’re heading into phase three now.” Curt said, then he subtly scanned the security pass and Owen swung the door open.

The three stepped into a dimly lit square of concrete, a single fluorescent light buzzing overhead and illuminating a staircase directly to their right. They crammed inside the space, pulling the door shut behind them.

“Barb.” Curt whispered. “Can you see us?”

“Not yet. The first visual I have is at the bottom of the staircase.” Barb’s words were punctuated by the rhythmic tapping of keys on her end. “But I scanned the room at the bottom, and you’re clear.”

“Thank you.” Tatiana whispered, then urged her colleagues forward.

Owen took the lead and began to quietly descend the stairs. Curt did the same, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he went. Finally, Tatiana brought up the rear.

The stairwell was quiet and dark, and the sound of their footsteps on the cement bounced lightly off of the walls. At the bottom of the stairs, the trio found themselves standing in a large storage room; boxes and shelves were stacked everywhere, and they lined and jutted out from the walls, creating a cardboard maze on either side.

“Now what?” Curt asked.

“Hang on.” Barb said, the sound of keys and a mouse resounded faintly on her end as she scanned the room from her angle in the security cameras. “To your right.” She said carefully. “Wind through the boxes until you reach the wall, then head straight back. A door should appear on your left--it’s the door that leads to the main security room. Be careful, though. There’s two other doors inside that hallway, and I don’t know where they lead.”

“Copy.” Curt said, and nudged Owen forward.

Owen turned to the boxes on their right and slipped into the stacks. He moved slowly, his two partners behind him. The boxes were all labeled--big black words spelled out things like “poker chips”, “straws”, and “nail gun”, and they didn’t seem to be organized in any particular way. Curt squinted at a random box labeled “neon light bulbs” wedged between “powdered drink mix” and “lighter fluid” and wondered how anyone could find anything in this literal maze.

Owen reached the far wall of the storage room, then turned and began walking towards the back. The quiet in the basement was deafening in comparison to the cacophony of the casino above; it was unnerving and Curt’s whole body was tense.

“You’re coming up on the door now.” Barb said, and a grey metal door poked through the stacks of boxes on their left. Owen reached for the door, then Barb gasped. “Wait!”

The door swung open unexpectedly, and two security guards stepped out into the storage room. They were laughing at something and they jumped when they saw Tatiana, Curt, and Owen standing only inches away. “Who are--”

The first guard didn’t get a chance to finish his question before Curt reared back and punched him hard in the face with his bionic arm. The guard was instantly unconscious, flying backwards to land on the floor with a thud.

“Hey!” The other guard whined, looking at his fallen friend. Then Owen followed Curt’s lead and landed a punch square into the side of the man’s head.

“That was easy.” Curt remarked, then took a step through the door.

The moment his shoes touched the tile floor of the new hallway, a small alarm trilled once, then the two metal doors at the end of the hall slid open and two Clockworks stepped out.

Curt paused. “Now why would that happen?” He complained.

The Clockworks were gold metal, with exposed wires and smooth panels on their chest and joints. They took a simultaneous step forward and each lifted an arm, jerking it slightly so that a small flamethrower sparked to life on the end. A single warning floated out of the voice box in their throats, “Halt! You are unauthorized to be in this area. Leave now.”

“Ah fuck.” Curt said, taking another step forward, getting ready to try to lie his way out of the situation. “So--”

The Clockwork on the right rushed forward, moving faster than Curt expected--one moment it was standing on the opposite end of the hallway, and the next, it was looming over Curt, grabbing him by the neck and lifting him off of his feet.

“Curt!” Tatiana and Owen called out, stepping in to the hallway.

Curt grabbed at the metal hand wrapped tightly around his throat and tried to pry its grip loose. The edges of his vision spotted a bit as he gasped for air. Then, the pressure was released as Curt was tossed effortlessly backwards and through the door. He flew threw the air like a ragdoll and collided with a stack of boxes in the storage room, sending them flying. Curt landed hard on a box labeled “packing peanuts”, crushing it completely, and a shower of white foam peanuts exploded all around him.

“Ow.” He said, watching as a flurry of foam pellets rained down on him. “Why would they have a box full of packing peanuts?” He said, a little dazed from his ordeal.

“Curt are you OK?” Tatiana said, rushing to his side.

His ribs ached a bit and he would definitely have a purple bruise on his neck later. But otherwise, he was alright. In fact, as he stood up and saw the new scene in front of him, adrenaline rushed through him, and he suddenly felt a lot better.

As Tatiana had been helping him up, Owen had sprung into action. He pulled a black whip out his backpack and flicked it across the room, grabbing the Clockwork that had attacked Curt by the ankle and yanking it back. The Clockwork’s lower half suddenly jerked forward, and it lost its footing and fell to the floor. Owen sprung forward and landed hard on the Clockwork’s chest, pinning it down as he reached for its chest panel.

The second Clockwork finally registered a new person in the room. “Halt! You are unauthorized to be in this area. Leave now.” It began to move towards Owen in jerking steps.

“Be right back.” Curt said, grabbing a wooden broom that had landed near him in the crash and rushing into the narrow hallway as the second Clockwork raised his arm above Owen.

Curt sprinted towards his teammate, hitting the ground quickly and sliding across the floor on his knees. He slid to a stop slightly ahead of Owen and lifted the broom handle above his head just in time to block the Clockwork’s blow. “You hangin’ in there, partner?” Curt said to Owen.

Owen grunted as he worked to keep the first Clockwork’s arms pinned down with his knees. “I’m good! You?”

“Never better!” Curt pushed back on the broom handle hard, and the second Clockwork stumbled backwards. Curt jumped to his feet and charged it, swinging his broomstick in a high arc to collide with the Clockwork’s head.

It swayed briefly, then a pre-recorded message played. “Please do not jostle me. I cannot calibrate on my own and will fall over.”

“That’s the point, motherfucker!” Curt yelled, then hit it a second time.

Meanwhile, Owen was fumbling with the first Clockwork. He had managed to get the chest panel on it open, and was searching for the proper wire to turn it off. As he tried to get a closer look, the Clockwork continued to try and swat him off.

Finally, the first Clockwork managed to get a hand on Owen’s chest and pushed him backwards. Owen tumbled back and off of the Clockwork, landing on his back in the dust of the hallway. This Clockwork must be a newer model, as it then did something that most models can’t: it stood up.

The first Clockwork quickly and smoothly raised itself up, steadied itself, then moved swiftly to close the space between him and Owen, rearing back to hit him.

“Look who updated to ios 4000.” Owen quipped, clicking a button on the handle of his whip. A faint clicking noise filled the air as the whip gathered itself and grew rigid, forming a solid rod that he brought up and used to block the Clockwork’s blow.

The Clockwork seemed confused for a moment. “My software is not an Apple product.”

Owen rolled his eyes and shoved the Clockwork backwards. “Clearly not. Siri understands sarcasm now.” He ducked as the metal man engaged its flamethrower and shot a blast of heat near his face. “Easy, Sparky.” He said, slammed the staff across its head.

“Will you two stop fucking around!” Tatiana yelled, she’d been digging through Owen’s pack, looking for something she could use to help her teammates.

Owen shrugged. “Mom says I can’t play anymore, Sparky.” He dodged another fireball. “Gotta run!” He jammed his hand into the chest cavity of the Clockwork, grabbed a handful of wires and yanked. With a shower of sparks, the wires came loose and Owen held them in his hand, laughing as he watched the Clockwork malfunction.

It sputtered and shook, emitting a panicked chorus of beeps and half-sentences, before finally giving up the ghost and collapsing slowly onto its side.

Across the room, Curt was still grappling with his Clockwork. After smashing it across the head a few times, he still hadn’t managed to topple it. In fact, the Clockwork was lurching at him faster and harder now.

“Need help?” Owen said as Curt ducked under a wild swing, the Clockwork’s flamethrower sparking angrily as it narrowly missed Curt’s head.

“No, I think I’ve got it.” He used the momentum from his duck to take a swipe at the Clockwork’s ankles, sending it crashing down onto its back, where it kicked and flailed and ground out an error message.

“I have fallen. Alert! I have fallen. Please--please--please assist me.” The message was glitching.

Curt walked over to it, and looked down. “Here, let me help.” He snapped his fingers on his bionic hand, and the taser on his pointer and middle fingers sparked to life. Then, he jammed his fingers into the exposed wire on the neck of the Clockwork, and the machine convulsed violently before laying still again.

“Good work!” Owen said, clapping him on the back.

“Thanks.” Curt smiled and watched as Owen smiled back. Curt had to focus hard as a wave of déjà vu swept over him and threatened to force him to lean in to Owen. They were a team again.

Then suddenly, Barb was in his ear. “Curt, I saw that. I specifically told you not to snap your fingers to activate the taser. You’re going to short out your whole arm.” She huffed.

“Yeah, but Barb, it just looked so cool when I did it.” Curt said, catching sight of a security camera and giving her a big grin.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She said, but Curt could tell she was smiling. “Just keep moving. The safe should be on the other side of that door.”

“Is the door locked?” Curt asked, striding over to it and trying the handle. When it didn’t budge, Curt looked closely and saw the keypad above the handle. “Barb?”

“I’m working on it.” Barb chirped, and Curt could hear her tapping away at top speed. After a few moments of tense silence, the lock disengaged with a click. “Be careful going in. I don’t have eyes on that room, but I can almost guarantee there’s a guard in there. And he may have seen you coming.”

“I can take care of the guard.” Tatiana said, pulling her small dart gun out of her bra. “Never leave home without it.” She smiled.

“On three.” Curt said, placing a hand on the door handle. “One.. two… three!” He flung the door open and Tatiana rolled into the room, coming to a stop in a kneeling position and aiming the dart gun around the room.”

“Uh… guys?” Tatiana said, and the two men stuck their heads in the door frame.

There was one security guard stationed in the room at a desk. He had his feet propped up on the tabletop, his head tipped back, and he was snoring loudly.

“Must be a slow night.” Curt said.

“Not anymore.” Tatiana fired her gun as she stood up. The dart hit the guard in the neck, and he startled awake for a moment, letting out a yelp of surprise as his chair tipped backwards and he landed on the floor with a thump. Curt leaned over the desk while Tatiana and Owen made their way to the vault door; the guard was now unconscious on the floor.

“What do you think?” Tatiana asked Owen, and Curt jogged over to join them.

Owen was inspecting the vault door; he tapped on the metal at various places, put an ear to the lock, and scrutinized the keypad next to it. “The keypad is going to be on a closed security loop. That’s why Barb can’t see inside here—the cameras are on their own system contained within this room.”

“Can you get through?” Tatiana asked.

Owen arched an eyebrow at her. “I can get through anything.” He began to dig around in his backpack until he finally pulled out a small silver disk. “This is a magnetic charge device.” He said, sticking the disk onto the vault. He pulled more out of his backpack and began placing them strategically on the vault door. “When activated, they screw with the electric fields that are working on the lock. The idea is to scramble the field enough to confuse the lock and open the vault without tripping any alarms.” Owen finished placing the six disks on the door, then began to turn them on one-by-one. Curt watched intently as his ex did what he did best, and he smiled. Owen was good at his job. They used to make a great team.

The silver disks hummed as they worked, and slowly, the lights on their outsides blinked from red to yellow to green. Once all the lights were green, Owen smiled. “Ready?”

Curt couldn’t help but smile back. Time for their prize. “Ready.”

Owen turned the heavy metal handle of the vault door, and it swung open easily. He stepped back, and the three peered through the doorway together.

Then, they frowned.

On the other side of the door wasn’t stacks and stacks of credits. Instead, it was an elevator, the doors chiming open as they stared at it.

“What’s going on?” Barb asked. “I can’t see you guys in there.”

“This isn’t the vault.” Tatiana whispered.

There was a long pause. “What do you mean?” It was Cynthia this time. She sounded panicked. “The vault should be in the second security room. Are you in the wrong room?”

“We opened a vault door, and there’s an elevator inside.” Owen explained.

“That wasn’t on the blueprints!” Barb said, her typing becoming frantic. “I can’t find a single schematic that would suggest that there would be a level lower than this one.”

“There has to be.” Curt said. “I’m staring at a goddamn elevator!”

“That means that the vault has to be down another level.” Barb says. “I don’t have a single blueprint for it, and I don’t have the security layout for it.” She paused. “You’re going to have to go in blind.”

The trio exchanged nervous glances, then looked towards the elevator again.

“Well shit."


	18. A Job Well Done

The mouth of the elevator loomed in front of the trio, the fluorescents buzzing and blinking in a way that made Curt nervous. And for a while, no one moved. This was the worst scenario that can come out of a heist; if a team member gets caught, plans would have been made before setting out. If a team member dies, plans would have been made. But if the mark is not where it should be, and the team is running into a scenario blind, there’s no planning for that. In their line of work, lack of planning got people caught. Or worse—a lack of planning got people killed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Curt watched Owen’s fists clench at his sides, and Curt knew what he was thinking. The last time they had to run in blind, Owen plummeted fifty feet off down the side of the Eiffel Tower. Their lack of a solid plan in Paris had nearly cost Owen his life.

Owen stiffened suddenly, then said in a calm, even voice, “Let’s keep moving. We just need to make sure we’re paying attention.” He took a deep breath. “No more surprises.”

Owen stepped forward into the elevator, and Curt and Tatiana followed close behind. The elevator was minimalistic in design: metal walls and a red carpeted floor, a single fluorescent panel screwed into the ceiling, and tinny music being piped in from the casino floor. It looked like any other elevator in a commercial building. Except, the panel to the right of the door had no floor buttons. Instead, a square handprint scanner lit up blue and green, and a small, robotic voice asked for a handprint identification.

“Barb, the elevator is handprint scan activated. But there’s no floor buttons, so I assume it only goes to one floor.” Curt said, leaning in close to inspect the panel. “Do you think you could get it to work?”

“Curt, I can’t even see the room you’re in.” Barb huffed. “I’m not a goddamn wizard.”

“Really?” Owen said, a small playful edge to his voice. “I thought you were the one that hacked the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland when you were ten. I know how tight Disney locks their shit down, so I thought an invisible security network would be a walk in the park.”

There was silence on the line for a moment. “Fine. I’ll try again to find the system. But it’s going to take some time. You’ll have to try and get down there without the elevator in the meantime. Hopefully by the time you reach the bottom, I’ll be able to find the system and get into it.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Curt said, then he pressed a small button on his wrist, and the tip of his bionic middle finger swung open on a hinge, revealing a small laser.

Owen gestured to the laser. “Classy.”

Curt smirked and stuck his hand out, flipping Owen off and sending an involuntary spark of laser up through the roof, leaving a smoldering hole in the metal.

“Be careful!” Owen said. “Please just cut the floor so we can get going.” Owen’s tone was scolding, but Curt swore he caught a hint of a smile on his friend’s face.

Curt knelt down on the floor of the elevator and turned the laser on. It sliced down through the carpet and metal and he began to move it in a wide circle, the smooth movement as easy and satisfying as the glide of scissors on wrapping paper. Owen and Tatiana gave him a wide berth as he cut a hole large enough for each of them to slip through, and after only a few short moments, Curt had completed the job.

He replaced the ‘cap’ on the laser and stared at the carpet circle in front of him. “I wonder if I can pull it out quietly.” He murmured.

The second his fingers brushed the carpet, though, the circle dropped out of the floor and plummeted down the elevator shaft, landing on the cement below with a bang.

“Woops.” Curt said, then stood up and brushed the dust off of his pant legs.

“Ladies first!” Tatiana said, pulling a small hand-gun shaped object out of Owen’s backpack, and the two men stepped back. Tatiana fired the object at the floor next to the hole, and a sharp stake flew out of the end, burying itself deep into the floor and providing an anchor for Tatiana to tie a rope to. She then fired two more stakes into the ground, and the three got to work securing their ropes.

Once Tatiana was ready, she yanked on the rope a few times to test its strength. Then, she lowered herself slowly down into the hole.

Curt and Owen peered down and watched as Tatiana made quick work of climbing down the rope. She wasn’t rappelling, but rather using her arms to lower herself inch by inch down the shaft. As she descended, Barb came back on the comms.

“I’ve found the network.” She said. “But I’m having a little trouble getting in. Until I can override it, I won’t be able to help you if something goes wrong.”

Tatiana’s feet touched down on the cement below. “Thanks, Barb.” She said as she stepped to the side of the shaft near the bottom set of elevator doors. “OK, come down carefully!” She called back up. “We don’t know if there’s any traps. You should probably go one at a time.”

“Will do!” Owen called back, then he slowly lowered himself down into the shaft, grabbing the rope tightly and steadying himself, before he began to slowly climb down towards Tatiana.

Curt, not wanting to be the last person down, immediately climbed into the shaft after Owen, mimicking Tatiana by lowering himself, arm over arm, down the rope. He’d always been stronger than Owen, so in a matter of seconds, he was shoulder-to-shoulder with his ex. They descended in silence, the small quarters creating a cramped and difficult climb.

Curt looked over and watched for a moment as Owen concentrated hard on inching down the rope. Ever since Paris, Owen hated heights, and Curt could tell he was nervous. “You doing alright?” Curt asked.

Owen huffed. “I’m fine.” He snapped. “Why didn’t you wait your turn? Can’t you hear? Tati said to go one at a time.”

“Jesus.” Curt said. “I was just asking.”

“Don’t ask.” Owen was nervous and uncomfortable and lashing out. And even though Curt knew that, he didn’t appreciate it.

Curt frowned. “You know what? I said I was sorry a while ago. I thought we were friends again. Why are you still being a dick?” Curt swung himself slightly and shouldered into Owen, giving him a light shove.

As Curt muscled into him, Owen’s concentration broke, and he began to fall.

There was a moment, a fraction of a minute, in which time stood still. Owen hung suspended in the air, a hand outstretched to the rope, panic in his eyes. The air crackled around Curt as his heart plummeted.

Then, time caught up. Owen pitched downward. And sound exploded in the shaft.

Tatiana gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. Owen yelled, fear flooding his voice. Curt cursed, his arm reaching out to try to catch his former partner.

Owen dropped several feet, then managed to grab onto the rope again, fire ripping through this shoulder as he snatched himself out of mid-air, and he gripped the rope firmly as he swung and slammed backwards into the wall of the elevator shaft, bouncing off of the metal.

“Owen!” Curt yelled down. “Are you OK?”

Owen was clutching the rope, trembling from the effort of holding himself aloft and from the adrenaline of falling. “I think so.” He breathed.

Then, a single bell chimed once in the shaft. A small hatch slid open on the opposite side of the shaft as Curt, and a spherical, black bionic eye of a camera popped out of the wall. Its red eye surveyed the shaft, looking up, down, and around, before settling on Curt. He watched as it focused its sights on him, then another small bell chimed.

A tinny, robotic voice filled the chamber, echoing off of the metal walls and rattling around between Curt’s ears. “You are unauthorized!” It chimed. “Prepare to be removed!”

And with no further warning, the gravity in the chamber switched off, and Curt began to freely float. Tatiana moved quickly, grabbing onto a hunk of metal on the side of the shaft, and Curt did the same. Owen was free-floating in a single spot, rubbing his shoulder and scowling.

“Barb!” Tatiana called. “We tripped a security trap. Can you shut it off?”

Curt could hear her typing on the other side of his comm. “I can see the system and the trap, but it’s encrypted. I’ll need time.”

There was a low grinding noise as a large, round hatch opened in the side of the chamber, and the air began to rush out of the shaft; a vacuum attempting to eject the three intruders.

“We don’t have time!” Curt yelled, as he immediately clung tighter to the wall and looked down at this teammates. Tatiana had a tight grip on the wall next to her, but Owen hadn’t thought to grab on. Now, he was fighting against the suction as it grew stronger and stronger, clawing his way through the air towards the wall. His fingertips grazed a piece of metal jutting out from the wall, and he tried to grab on. As he got a small grip on the metal, the vacuum picked up speed again, and he was ripped away from the safety of the metal, flying upwards and towards the gaping black hole in the side of the elevator shaft.

“Barb!” Curt yelled out, pulling his rope up in order to get a grasp on the closer to the end of the line. “Shut it down. Now!”

Barb was frantic on her end. “I’m trying! It’s a tough code to crack!”

Curt watched as Owen flew upwards, weightless and terrified. He pulled himself tighter to the wall, crouched, and pushed off hard. For a moment, he was suspended in the open air. Then, he was hurtling forwards and upwards at the same time, until he crashed into Owen, knocking them both into the far wall. The metal clanged loudly as they collided, and Curt scrambled for a handhold, grabbing onto chunks of metal in the wall and slipping his feet under a small ledge, pressing the two of them hard together and into the metal behind Owen. Owen let out a strangled cry as his head banged against the steel, and he grabbed onto Curt to keep from floating away. The wind whipped around them in the elevator shaft and the air was growing thinner.

“Barb!” Curt yelled over the roar of the wind, Owen’s nails digging into his shoulders and his blood rushing in his ears.

“Almost there!” Barb yelled back.

“Hold on!” Curt shouted at Owen as he tried to dig his feet further under the ledge, and Owen gripped him tighter. He buried his face in Curt’s chest and screamed, terrified and helpless all at once, as he gasped for air in the deoxygenating chamber. Curt could feel the edges of his brain growing fuzzy from the thin air, and he could feel Owen’s heart hammering against his chest.

“Got it!” Barb yelled in Curt’s ear, and a loud, metallic shriek sounded in the chamber, as the trap door in the side of the shaft slammed shut. The wind died as quickly as it started, and the gravity suddenly shifted back on. Curt gasped as the air re-oxyginated and his head spun from the relief.

Tatiana hit the ground with a heavy thump as her knees connected with the metal, and suddenly Curt was supporting the weight of both himself and Owen as he hung from the metal outcroppings in the shaft. The shoulder where his bionic arm was wired in screamed in protest, and he could feel his strength draining.

“Owen, you’re going to have to let go of me.” Curt said, straining as he tried to keep them both aloft. “Grab onto the rope and climb down.”

Owen hesitated a moment, then he managed to take the rope from where it was clenched in Curt’s hand and he waited until Curt had a grip higher up on the rope. Then, they swung back across the shaft to the side that the rope was attached to and began to rappel down.

Once their feet were back on solid ground, both men crumbling to their knees, gasping for air and trembling slightly.

“You OK?” Curt asked, looking over to Owen.

This time, the other man didn’t snap. “Yeah. I’m going to be OK. You?”

Curt swallowed. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Tatiana walked over and put a hand out, helping her teammates to their feet. “We need to keep going. We cannot be sure if that alarm went off somewhere that Barb cannot see. There could be people on their way to stop us.”

Curt brushed his suit off, straightening the lapels and making sure his bionic arm was still in good shape. As he did, Owen was digging in his backpack until he pulled out a crowbar, wedged it between the doors to the new hallway, and began to pry them open.

On the other side of the doors stretched a long hallway; the fluorescents casting a sterile white light off white walls and white tile floors. On the opposite wall, a bank vault door provided a stark grey contrast to the blinding aesthetic—the vault was the only thing in the room.

“Let’s go.” Curt said, moving to take a step into the room.

“Wait!” Barb called out in Curt’s ear and he froze.

There was a small click and a buzzing sound, and lasers crisscrossed through the middle of the hallway, clustered close together in random patterns.

“I can’t turn them off,” Barb said. “But I can make them visible for you. The alarm code for it is encrypted, so I can’t tell what will happen you trip one. What I can tell you, though, is that they’re trip lasers, so they won’t hurt you if you touch one. But they will trigger a different security measure if you do. It’s the only trap in the room, though. As soon as we clear it, we’re home free.”

“Do not touch the lasers.” Tatiana said, gathering her braid into a bun. “Got it.” She reached down and tore her dress, ripping the fabric to just above her knee to give herself more mobility and less chances to bump the lasers. Then, she gave herself a running start and leapt into the tangle of lasers.

Curt and Owen winced, but watched as she landed gracefully before springing herself back up and over another set of lasers. She moved quickly, never staying in one position for more than a millisecond as she flipped and jumped and twisted through the maze of lights. After only a minute, Tatiana stuck her landing on the other side of the lasers, a big grin on her face. “Your turn, boys!” She cried out.

“I’ll go next.” Owen volunteered, then stepped forward. He slid his backpack through the narrow space under the lasers, and Tatiana caught it on the other side. Then, he took a deep breath, bent over, and stepped into the maze.

Owen’s efforts took a lot longer, and he moved with less showmanship. As he ducked under and stepped through the lasers, as Curt and Tatiana watched in silence, holding their breath until Owen stepped cleanly out on the other side and came to stand next to Tatiana.

“Your turn, Curt!” Owen called, brushing the dirt off of his clothes.

“Be careful.” Tatiana said. “Go slow please.”

Curt nodded, then he took a step forward. The laser maze loomed before him, menacing and complicated. The brightness of the room made it difficult to see the different layers of the lines, and for a moment, Curt’s head swam.

“Hey.” Owen said, and Curt looked up. “You can do this.”

Curt nodded, then he ducked down and stepped into the maze.

He moved even slower than Owen, taking his time to see the full layout of the lasers in front of him before making another move. He was in a deadly game of chess, and he concentrated on being one step ahead at all times. After several minutes, he stepped out on the other side, unscathed and without tripping the alarm.

Once free again, Curt paused. Then, he threw his arms in the air. “Ta da!”

A brief alarm sounded in the hallway, and Curt looked up to see his hand in the middle of a laser. The maze in the middle of the room suddenly blinked off, and the elevator doors slammed shut on the other end of the hallway.

“Quit triggering all the fucking traps!” Tatiana and Owen yelled at the same time, and Curt snapped his arms to his side.

A soft click echoed in the hallway. Then, the wall to their right began to move towards them.

“Fuck!” Curt yelled, running up to the wall and pushing against it, trying to stop its advance. “Barb, the wall’s closing in.”

“I can see that on the system now!” She said. “I’m trying to turn it off!”

Tatiana and Owen split up, each running to the opposite end of the hallway. “Dead end!” Owen yelled out. There’s no gap.”

“Same on this end!” Tatiana called back.

“Are there vents?” Curt called out, still pushing uselessly on the wall.

“No vents!” Owen called back, running to stand next to Curt and put his full weight into the wall as well.

“There’s no ceiling tiles, either.” Tatiana said, backing up against the non-moving wall. “We’re trapped.”

“There’s got to be a way out!” Curt yelled, giving up on pushing and running his hands along the wall next to Tatiana and banging on the drywall. “Fuck!” He yelled again, before kicking the moving wall.

“There’s nothing!” Owen said, panicked. “Barb, can you shut it down?”

“I’m trying, but it’s complicated.” She said, her typing furiously increasing on the other end.

The wall was now three feet away from them, and the trio flattened themselves against the opposite wall in an attempt to put more space between them and the advancing expanse of white. But the drywall continued to advance closer and closer; it was only two feet away now.

Curt always thought that his life might flash before him in the moments before he died. Now, though, he was moments away from death, and the only thought in his head was “ _Owen_ ”. As the wall began to put pressure on Curt’s chest, he turned his head to look at Owen, and found the other man staring back.

They reached their hands out, entwining their fingers as stars danced in front of Curt’s vision. They squeezed their eyes shut as they waited for the final push before being crushed.

Then, there was another click. And the wall began to retract and move away from them again.

“Done.” Barb said softly, and Curt could tell she was drained.

“Barb, you’re a lifesaver.” Owen said as he slumped down to the floor, releasing Curt and burying his face in his hands.

Curt bent over and tried to catch his breath. “I owe you a gift card.” He said, laughing a little.

“Anything but Starbucks, please.” Barb laughed as well, and soon, the four of them were laughing as the tension diffused around them and the wall settled back into place.

“Should we crack this bad boy open?” Curt asked, gesturing to the vault.

“Yes, please.” Owen said. “This is one of the longest nights of my life. So, let’s finish this thing.”

He retrieved his backpack and went to work placing the pulse charges at strategic points around the vault door. As he worked, there was a sudden burst of feedback on the comms, and the earpieces screamed in the trio’s ears.

“Ow, what the fuck?” Curt yelled, ripping the comm out of his ear and watching as his teammates did the same.

“We must be too far underground.” Tatiana said. “Here, I’ll hold them for us.” She said, collecting the comms and placing them in her pocket. “We’ll put them back in when we’re at the top of the elevator again.”

Owen continued his work, placing the last of the pulse charges and turned each of them on in a sequence. Their lights began to pulse, and the charges beeped faster and faster, until there was a grinding click inside the vault, and the lights on the charges all turned green. Tatiana smiled. “Ready?” She asked.

Curt nodded, bracing himself for the next unexpected obstacle behind the door. “Ready.”

Tatiana swung the door open, and on the other side lay piles and piles of credits. Six million credits in cash, to be precise. The blue stacks of paper shimmered under the lights, as Curt even saw a few piles of precious gems—diamonds and rubies and emeralds twinkled a kaleidoscope of colors around the room.

Owen whistled through his teeth. “We did it.”

Curt smiled, putting a hand on Owen’s arm. “We did it.”

Owen smiled back, hesitated for a moment, then began to lean in to kiss Curt. As they inched closer together, a loud “ding” from the elevator stopped them in their tracks, and they turned to watch as the doors slid open.

On the other side, a man in a beige suit and a red tie stepped out of the elevator car. He had dark hair and a small mustache, and he was smirking as he slowly clapped his hands. Behind him, a dead security officer was slumped in the elevator, presumably used for his handprint ID. He walked slowly and confidently, a black box tucked under his arm as he did.

The strange man continued to clap as he walked closer to the trio. “Well done, Tatiana.”

Curt heard a click, and turned to see Tatiana had drawn a gun, pointing it directly at Curt and Owen. “I am so sorry.” She whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell that my pet peeve is heists in which nothing goes wrong?


	19. The Meek

“Curt?” Barb said, pulling the comm stats up on her holowatch. The bright blue screen floated an inch above her wrist and flickered as she moved the icons of the comms around to bring Curt, Owen, and Tatiana’s to the front. The signal was jammed; a bright red X floated next to each icon. “Owen? Tatiana? Can anyone hear me?” She slammed a flat palm on the control panel of the security room. “Dammit, someone speak to me!”

“What happened?” Cynthia asked, and Barb turned her attention to the security cameras where she could see her other teammate stepping into the shadow of a corner to talk to her.

“I don’t know.” Barb swiveled the security cameras in the basement around, trying desperately to see into the fake vault room. “They were about to open the safe, then there was a bunch of feedback, and now the signal’s jammed. I’m blind, Cynthia. I can’t see them.”

“Fuck.” Cynthia muttered. “I need to get down there.”

“You can’t.” Barb said, shaking her head. Her blond curls were soaked in nervous sweat, and they stuck to her forehead as she swung her head. “If you go down there, and your boss goes looking, we could expose the whole thing.”

“So what do we do?”

Barb was silent for a moment. “We have to wait. Until we’re either caught, or they come back online.”

“I’m not--” Cynthia was cut off when the door to the men’s room banged open next to her. “Oh hell.” She mumbled as Dick Big stumbled out of the restroom, holding his head and muttering to himself.

“Grab him.” Barb said, thinking fast. “We can’t let him get too far from us. He might report Curt and blow our cover.”

“This fucking guy.” Cynthia mumbled to Barb. “Are we ever going to get rid of him.”

“It doesn’t look like it.” Barb said dryly. “Just distract him and see how much he remembers.”

“Mr. Big!” Cynthia said, slapping a warm smile on her face and a chipper tone into her voice. “You don’t look so good. Here, let me help you.” She grabbed a hold of his elbow and began to lead him towards a nearby sofa.

“My head hurts.” Dick said, collapsing onto the sofa and putting his head in his hands.

“What happened, sir?” Cynthia said, removing his hat and placing a hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up, are you sure you’re not sick?”

“I… I don’t know.” He rubbed his eyes and thought hard. “I just woke up leaning against a bathroom stall.”

Cynthia retracted her hand quickly and wiped it on her apron. “Did you get sick and pass out?”

“I don’t think so…” Dick said. “I was in there with someone… Yeah, I think I was in there with someone, and then, suddenly, I was waking up on the toilet, fully clothed, with a massive headache…”

“You think about it. But not too hard; you don’t want to get a bigger headache.” Cynthia said gently. “I’ll go get you a glass of water.”

As she made her way towards the kitchen, Cynthia threw a glance at the nearest security camera. “He doesn’t remember a lot, but we’re not out of the woods yet.”

“I’m still without a signal on the other comms.” Barb said, then swore lightly as she slapped the dashboard again. “What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know.” Cynthia said, pushing open the door to the kitchen. “But for all the trouble they’ve caused us, those three better be in big trouble to leave us in the dark like this.”

\------

“Tati?” Curt said carefully. “Just… lower the gun. Please.”

Tatiana shook her head, and backed away from the two men to stand next to the stranger in the tan suit. “I am so sorry.” She said again, her hand shaking lightly. “I had--”

The strange man held up a hand to silence her. “Stop talking, Tatiana. Your input is no longer needed.” She floundered for a moment, debating whether or not to continue talking, then fell silent again.

“What is going on?” Curt asked. “Who are you?”

The stranger smirked. “I am--”

“Barron.” Owen said quietly. “Barron Von Nazi.”

The stranger smirked. “Ah. So you do remember me. I had so hoped you would, Owen.”

Curt took a step back. “You know him?”

Owen nodded in disbelief. “He was my employer for the dark matter heist on Venus.”

“You did exceptionally well.” Von Nazi said, clasping his hands behind his back. “That’s why I told Tatiana that we just had to have you on the team.” He smiled wolfishly. “And here you are.”

Owen narrowed his eyes. “I don’t understand. Backers never come to a job.” He gestured to the safe. “Are you just going to kill us so that you don’t have to split the winnings?”

Von Nazi laughed. “Owen, I’m one of the wealthiest men in the galaxy. This was never about money.”

“It’s about power.” Curt said. “You were in Barb’s history brief. You were the original investor in Eos.”

“You read that?” Tatiana and Owen said in unison.

“Yes, I read it.” Curt said. “I thought it might come in handy.” He looked at the shocked faces of his friends. “Don’t act like you’re just learning that I can read.” He rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Curt,” Von Nazi said, regaining control over the conversation. “I was the original investor in Eos; in fact, the whole idea was mine to start with! I own hundreds of vacation resorts on Earth, and it only made sense to expand outward. Cyrus Big was my friend; I’d known him for years, and I thought I could trust him. He came to me and asked me to trust him to be in charge of this project. But he got greedy and cut me out of the deal last-minute. Said I had too big of a cut, and that he’d found a private investor to give him the money as a gift.”

“Mariana.” Curt said softly.

“My, my.” Von Nazi smiled. “I underestimated you. You do know your history. Yes. My sister Mariana married the snake and gave him her inheritance to kick start this place. And now, they make billions of credits every year, while my resorts on Earth lose customers every day.”

“So, what?” Curt said, challenging him. “You think stealing 6 million credits will set this right?”

“Absolutely not.” Von Nazi laughed. “Like I said. This isn’t about the money.” He pulled the black box from under his arm. “Recognize this, Owen?”

Curt turned to look at his friend, and watched as the color drained from his face. “That’s--”

“Your dark matter bomb, yes.” Von Nazi said, tossing the bomb in their direction. It hit Owen square in the chest, and he clutched it tightly to keep it from falling. “And it’s armed.”

“You’re going to blow us up?!” Curt yelled, incredulous.

“The whole station, yes. You see, if Eos is no longer viable, then clients will be forced to stay at resorts on Earth.”

“But your nephew’s here. On the station right now.” Curt said, reaching for a reason for Von Nazi to call off the plan.

Instead, the man sneered. “Dick is an idiot. His loss is regrettable, but I’d rather see it than watch him piss away the business. MY business.”

“So you’re just going to kill hundreds of innocent people instead?” Curt shot back.

Von Nazi shrugged. “Collateral damage. Though, I’m not entirely heartless--I did chose the off season for this little heist.” He adjusted the cuffs of his suit sleeves, as if bored with the situation. “But enough chit-chat. I have a shuttle to catch before that thing goes off.” He took the gun from Tatiana. “Into the vault.” He waved them back.

“Tati, you’re just going to let him do this?” Owen called out.

Tatiana dropped her eyes, hugging her arms to her chest. “I have no choice.”

“Tati!” Curt yelled, watching as she turned away from them. Curt took another step back towards the vault as Von Nazi waved the gun at him agian. “You’re both cowards. You know that, right? Timid and weak and… and...”

Tatiana flinched, but Von Nazi merely smiled. “The meek shall inherit the Earth, Curt. And the brave? They die on Mars.” His face hardened. “Get inside. Now.”

Curt weighed his options, looking from the gun to Tatiana to Owen and back. Finally, he took one final step backwards to stand next to Owen inside of the vault.

Then, he watched as the metal door closed, slowly shutting away the frightened face of their teammate. They listened as the lock engaged with a loud metal grinding and silence settled in the vault.

And Curt and Owen were alone as a red clock face on the black box counted down one hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry-- short little update! We're about to head into some major, major action, though! My goal now that choir is over for the season is to finish this fic before the end of 2019. So strap in! Cause it's gonna be wild from here on out.


	20. The Vault

Tatiana watched as the door to the vault slowly swung closed, sealing her friends inside. She watched, refusing to meet Curt’s icy glare as he slipped from view and Von Nazi spun the lock shut once more. “We did not have to kill them.” Tatiana said softly.

“Don’t be stupid.” Von Nazi sneered, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her towards the elevator. “It’s not my problem that you hired  _ friends  _ to do this job. You knew what we were doing here.”

“You wanted in. I had to hire the best.”

“And you did your job well.” He pulled Tatiana into the elevator, using the dead guard’s handprint to start the car, and steadying himself as the car jolted upwards. “And now you’re done. So anything else is not your concern.” They rode in silence as Von Nazi checked his holowatch. “We have thirty minutes before the shuttle leaves. Your job doesn’t end until I’m safe on the ship.”

The elevator came to a halt, the doors sliding open with a dramatic  _ whoosh _ . On the other side, three men in suits stood, their arms crossed and matching scowls on their faces. They each had a mod on their arms, a hulking piece of metal that matched the massive pack of muscles on their non-prosthetic arms. “Ready?” One asked. He had a scar above his right eye and looked somehow meaner than the others.

“Yes. Let’s get off this filthy planet.” Von Nazi said, brushing invisble dirt from his suit sleeves.

Von Nazi’s goons led the way as they wound through the basement and back up the stairs, slipping quietly back out onto the casino floor. As they walked, Von Nazi kept a tight grip on Tatiana’s arm, practically dragging her across the carpet as he marched her towards the entrance tunnel.

“Can we slow down a moment?” Tatiana said, stumbling to keep pace with her employer.

“No. We have a shuttle to catch.” He walked faster, and Tatiana was practically jogging as her heels caught the carpet and she struggled to keep up.

As they made their way across the middle of the casino floor, Tatiana saw Cynthia. She was sitting on a bench next to Dick Big, and upon seeing Tatiana, she stood up suddenly, her face puzzled as she mouthed a question at her teammate.

Tatiana dropped her eyes in shame. She didn’t want to face her friend--they would put the pieces together soon enough that she had betrayed them all, and by then, it’d be too late. She’d be on a shuttle bound for Earth, and they’d be stardust.

As they approached the tunnel, Von Nazi slowed his pace enough for Tatiana to get her feet under her. They smiled and nodded at the security guards as they left the casino--just another rich man and his lady friend, nothing to see here, thank you. As soon as they were in the sterile white hallway, Von Nazi picked his pace up again. Checking his watch again, he announced, “We need to be there in twenty minutes.”

“We’re making good time, sir.” Eye Scar said. “We’ll get you there.”

“Once we are back on Earth,” Tatiana said, “You will let my daughter go?”

Von Nazi made a small shrug and a non-commital noise. “Maybe.” Tatiana stopped walking abruptly, digging her heels in and catching Von Nazi off guard as they both nearly lurched towards the floor. “What are you doing? We need to move.” He said, digging his arms deeper into the flesh above her elbow.

“You made me a deal.” The stress of the night was like a thread, stretched thin across Tatiana’s mind and body, as a razor rubbed back and forth across the surface. Finally, the string snapped, and Tatiana’s voice broke as she nearly screamed. “You promised me!”

“Shh!” Von Nazi said, gesturing for her to keep her voice down.

“No, you promised me!” She said, then lowered her voice again. “You promised that, if I did this one last job, you would let Katya go. Unharmed!”

“And I might still do that.” Von Nazi said, trying to tug her along again. “But you’ve proven yourself to be very useful to me, sweet Tati.” His smile was sickly sweet and dripping in slime as he pet Tatiana’s cheek. “So I may just keep you around. Both of you.” He turned to keep walking, pulling on her arm as he did.

Tatiana ripped her arm out of his hand, wincing at the tenderness above her elbow that she was sure was going to be a bruise in the morning. “I will not. I will not be your puppet anymore, you monster.” She spit. “I am telling the guards what you have done, and I will go to jail, but so will you. Kidnapping and attempted murder. You will rot in jail, and then you will rot in hell.” She spun around, getting ready to take off down the hallway, when suddenly, Eye Scar had a grip on both of her shoulders, the cool metal of his mod arm seeping down into her bones as he gripped her tighter and tighter, threatening to break her and crush her under his thumb.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Von Nazi said, and suddenly, Tatiana was being lifted off of her feet and slung over the body guard’s shoulder. “You’re staying right here on Eos. And you’ll die here.” They strode several feet down the corridor before Von Nazi swung open a door in the hallway. Eye Scar dropped her heavily onto the floor of the supply closet, and she landed on the concrete hard, stars spotting before her eyes as her head connected with the floor.

“Goodbye, Tatiana.” Von Nazi waved.

“No, stop, please!” Tatiana said, lurching to her feet and reaching out. But the door slid shut in front of her, plunging her into darkness, and she listened helplessly as the door was locked from the outside. “You cannot do this!” She screamed, banging her fists against the door. “You cannot do this to me! You made a promise!” She threw her entire weight against the metal door, a dull clanging reverberating around her skull as the door remained unaffected. “Fuck!” She screamed, a hoarse noise ripping from her lungs as she began tearing the closet apart. Tatiana pulled boxes and tools off of the shelves, desperate for anything she could use to break out of the closet. Finally, upon finding nothing, she slumped down to the floor. “I am so sorry.” She whispered, a sob escaping. She whispered apologies to Curt. To Owen. Barb, and Cynthia. To little Katya, confused and alone and whose mother is never coming to rescue her now. She cried for the terrible mistake she’d made by trusting Von Nazi, and she cried for the friends she’d put in danger by coming here.

Tatiana took a shaky breath, wiping the tears from her eyes and smearing her makeup. She was resigned to die here. There was no way out. “I am so, so sorry.” She whispered into the darkness.

Then, the door slid open and light flooded the small room. Tatiana looked up to see Barb and Cynthia standing in the doorway, Barb pointing a powerful taser at their leader.

Cynthia stepped forward. “Start talking.”

\-----

“Fuck!” Curt yelled, kicking the vault door for the third time in a row. 

“Please stop that.” Owen said. He was sitting on the floor of the vault, his back against the wall and his knees propping up his arms. He was resting his head against the cool metal wall, a vacant look in his eyes. The vault was quiet and dark, the only light coming from the faint blue glow that the credits gave off.

“I can’t fucking believe she’d betray us like that!” Curt kicked the door again, then, upon getting nowhere, picked up a diamond from the top of a nearby stack of credits and threw it as hard as he could towards the back. It landed against the wall with a loud clang, the sound amplified in the metal space.

“Goddammit, Curt!” Owen said, covering his ears as the clanging filled his head. “I told you to quit that! You’ve been banging on things for the past ten minutes. Just give up. We’re stuck.”

Silence fell over the vault. Curt deflated, standing in front of the door and watching Owen. Owen could see the wheels turning in his ex’s head; Curt was a fixer, and this was a problem he couldn’t fix. He could tell that Curt was having a hard time letting that go.

“But…” Curt started. “This can’t be it, right?” Owen stared at his hands. “We can’t die in here.”

There was a long stretch of silence. Then, Owen shifted over on the floor, making room for Curt next to him. “Come sit.” He patted the smooth metal lightly.

Curt hesitated a moment, then sat down on the floor next to Owen. “I can’t believe we’re going to die here.” He said quietly.

“At least we’re not alone.” Owen said, then turned and smiled at Curt. Curt watched as Owen hesitated, as if he had more to say, but didn’t want to vocalize those thoughts. Finally, he said, “Even after we broke up, I always pictured spending my last moments with you. I had just hoped we’d have a few more gray hairs.”

Curt swallowed the knot that was forming in his throat. Then, he rested his head on Owen’s shoulder and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’m so sorry, Owen. I was an ass.”

“When?” Owen asked playfully, and Curt laughed.

“All of the time. When we were together, when we broke up. On this job.” Curt ran a thumb over the back of Owen’s hand. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Owen sighed, squeezing his hand and resting his head against Curt’s. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have made accusations and left you. I should have waited until you were ready. I was… I was so scared that you didn’t love me or wouldn’t want me, that I made accusations and ran away.” Curt listened as Owen confessed, years of bottled up tears and frustrations spilling out and landing softly in Curt’s hair. “But I always loved you. And I… I desperately wanted you to love me, too. Which probably put too much pressure on you, and--”

“Hey.” Curt said, sitting up and taking Owen’s face in his hands. He used his thumbs to slowly wipe the tears from under his eyes, focusing hard as a catch formed in his voice and he spoke softly. “I always loved you. And I’m very sorry I never made that clear. But I still love you. And if you’ll have me,” He shifted to a kneeling position, and grasped Owen’s hand in both of his own. He brought the hand slowly to his mouth and kissed the rough skin of Owen’s knuckles. “If you’ll have me, I would love to marry you.”

Owen grabbed the front of Curt’s shirt and pulled him close, kissing him properly for the first time in years. And as they crashed together, Curt’s soul came home to rest, nestling in the curves and angles of Owen and breathing deep of love remembered.

Finally, when they pulled away, Curt was beaming, a radiant smile stretched across his face that infected Owen until he, too, was grinning wildly.

“Is that a yes?”

Owen rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s a yes.”

A soft beep sounded in the vault, and the two men were ripped out of their revere and reminded of the danger looming ahead--only 35 minutes left. A solemn mood settling like mist in the near-darkness of the vault, ruining the euphoria of their proposal.

Curt settled down on the floor again, curling up against Owen’s side. “Is it going to hurt?” Curt asked, nodding at the bomb. “When it goes off?”

Owen hesitated. “Yeah. A lot.”

“Can you disarm it?”

“I already tried. While you were kicking the door, I took a look inside. Von Nazi changed the coding, and I need a password.”

“What’s going to happen? Is it a fire-y explosion? Or something more subtle?”

Owen turned his head and planted a soft kiss on Curt’s hairline. “Don’t worry about it, love.”

And for once, Curt didn’t argue. They watched as two more minutes slid into oblivion.

Then, Curt sat up suddenly. “Do you trust me?” He asked, digging around in his pockets.

“Yes? Depends on what you’re about to do.”

Curt pulled a glass vial out of his pocket and pressed it into Owen’s palm. When he pulled his hand away, Owen was holding the vial of Narcolight, the pale silver liquid glinting as he rolled it across his palm.

“Are you nuts?” Owen said, pushing the bottle back into Curt’s hands.

“Hear me out.” Curt said, begging Owen to understand. “We’re going to die here, ripped apart by a dark matter bomb; nothing left for our mothers to even bury.” Owen flinched. “Or we could beat Von Nazi to the punch. Go out on our own terms. Together.”

Owen searched Curt’s eyes, and upon finding only seriousness, he pulled his own vial out of his pocket. “Think about it.” Curt said. “Instant death--instead of whatever pain that thing will put us through.”

Owen was shocked. But it made sense. He watched the clock slide down to 30 minutes and made a snap decision. “Together?”

Curt pulled the cap off of his vial. “Together.”

They kneeled in front of each other, entwining the fingers of their free hands, trembling from the fear of what they were about to do. Curt leaned forward and kissed Owen for the last time. “Are you ready?”

“Ready.”

They lifted the vials to their lips. And there was a clicking inside the vault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you trust me, dear reader??  
> .  
> Only one chapter left! It and the epilogue WILL go up before the end of 2019, and they will go up together. :)


	21. Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we move into the finale and epilogue, I want to take a moment to say thank you to everyone that has read and kept up with this fic over the last 6 months. It was truly a labor of love to bring Eyes on the Prize into the world, and I am grateful to everyone who participated in discord discussions about the fic, and to everyone who took time to read.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to found family: to my "sisters" and to my chorus, and especially to my roommate, @imhereformysciencefriends on Tumblr, who listened to me rant about this fic, gave me ideas and advice, and forced me to write when I wasn't focusing. Without these people, I would have never finished my masterpiece.

There was a clicking in the vault.

Then, the door swung open and light flooded the room.

“Oh, thank god!” Curt exclaimed, lowering the vial of Narcolight and grabbing onto Owen’s arm to stop him from drinking. In the doorway, ringed by fluorescent light, stood Cynthia and Barb, Tatiana standing demurely behind them. Curt jumped to his feet and pointed. “She fucking set us up!”

“We know.” Barb nodded. “And she’ll explain everything later. But I think we have bigger fish to fry first.” She nodded at the bomb, still ticking away and beeping each time another minute passed--only 27 left.

“We need to move fast.” Owen said, dropping the vial onto the ground as he stood up; all thoughts of his pact with Curt were gone, pushed out of his mind by an impossible urge to right this situation.

“We’re just going to trust her again?” Curt was still stinging from the betrayal of one of his closest friends.

“Curt, I am so sorry.” Tatiana said. “I had no choice.”

“There’s always a choice!” He snapped.

“Curt!” Owen said, and Curt swiveled around to look at his fiance. “We’ll deal with it later.”

“Can you disarm it?” Cythina asked, flinching when Owen picked the bomb up.

Owen shook his head. “Not without a password.” He paused. “But I can try to rewrite the code!” He said, as his face lit up with hope. “I would need a bunch of tools. An electric solder, a keyboard…” He trailed off.

“The security office!” Barb yelled out. “They have toolkits for the engineers!”

“Perfect!” Owen said, tucking the deadly weapon under his arm and making a break for the elevator. “We have to move fast.”

The team sprinted close behind as Owen raced down the hall and into the elevator. “Sorry, mate.” He mumbled as he picked up the dead security guard’s hand and pressed it against the panel. The doors closed and the elevator jerked to life as it began to slowly climb up towards the basement of the casino. Barb reached over and began fiddling with the bomb, configuring her watch to countdown alongside it, and Curt actively pretending like Tatiana wasn’t there.

As they rode, chipper elevator music created a bleak juxtaposition against the gravity of the situation. Finally, the doors opened with a soft ‘ding’, and the five were off and running again.

They sprinted through the basement and towards the stairs. When they reached the bottom, another security guard was coming down from the casino above.

“Hey, you can’t be down here.” He started.

Curt didn’t hesitate at all, just planted a fist into the guard’s face, knocking him out of the way as they flew up the stairs and spilled out onto the loud casino floor.

“Cover me!” Owen called, veering off for the security office. 

There was no one in front of the office, and nothing stood in their way as they burst through the door and into the dark room. Owen and Curt began to pull boxes and clutter off of the shelves, searching for a toolbox they could use.

“Hey! You can’t be in there!” A security guard yelled, storming up to them from the casino floor.

As he opened his mouth to speak again, Barb stuck the taser into his ribcage, and he dropped to the floor like a sandbag.

“Nice.” Cynthia said, high-fiving Barb and reaching down to pull the guard’s gun off of his belt.

“I hate that we’re making a habit out of this.” Barb said, gesturing to the unconscious guard.

Cynthia shrugged. “Desperate times.”

“Found it!” Owen yelled, dropping a heavy metal toolbox onto the floor and falling to his knees beside it. He placed the bomb on the floor and flipped open the clock face. They had 15 more minutes.

“I’m going to evacuate the casino.” Cynthia said, taking off across the floor.

“Is that going to help?” Barb asked as Curt came to stand next to her and watch.

“Not at all. But it’ll help her feel better.”

Cynthia skid to a stop next to the DJ’s booth. “Hi, hello, yes, I need to make an announcement.” She said, trying to convince the musician to give her the mic.

“No way, sweetcheeks.” He shook his head.

“It’s an emergency!” She protested.

“Don’t care.” He mumbled, and continued watching his soundboard, flipping a switch occasionally.

“Well, then, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He looked up just in time to see Cynthia swing his chair in a high arc as it connected with his face. The DJ was thrown from his booth backwards, hitting the carpet hard and scrambling as far from Cynthia as he could manage.

“Hi, can I get everyone’s attention?” Cynthia said into the mic. “We have an emergency, and we need everyone to calmly evacuate the casino.”

The patrons of the casino briefly looked up to acknowledge that she was talking, then went back to their gameplay.

Cynthia rolled her eyes, pulled the gun back out of the pocket of her skirt and aimed it at the ceiling, firing off a round into the plaster. The gunshot reverberated around the room as the casino fell dead silent in shock for a moment.

“MOVE!” Cynthia yelled, and the people began to scramble.

“Yikes.” Curt muttered, watching as the patrons climbed over each other, screaming and running towards the exit tunnel.

“HEY!” They heard someone yell over the chaos, and Curt turned around to see Dick Big making his way through the dissipating crowd towards them.

“Goddammit.” Curt muttered. “Hey, Dick!” He waved.

“You nearly killed me!” Dick said, getting into Curt’s face and jamming a finger into his chest.

“What are you talking about?” Curt slapped a puzzled look onto his face.

“You knocked me out and left me in the bathroom!”

Curt laughed. “No, Dick. You slipped on a paper towel and hit your head! I can’t believe you don’t remember this. You came to briefly and requested that I leave you in a stall so that you could get your bearings. I thought it was weird, but I obliged.” He shrugged.

Dick looked confused now. “I don’t think--”

Curt slapped a hand onto the other man’s shoulder. “Dick, buddy, we’re friends! Would I lie to you?”

Dick thought about it for a moment. “No, I guess not...”

Curt smiled. “Good, I’m glad you’re on board, because I have to admit that I lied to you: my name’s actually Curt and we were hired to rob the casino.”

“I’m sorry, WHAT?” Dick roared.

“Look, we don’t have time to get into the details. The short version is that we were hired to rob the casino by your douchey uncle, but now he’s planted a bomb and we’re trying to save everyone.”

“What?!” Dick reeled backwards, looking past Curt to Owen on the floor of the security office. “That’s a bomb?”

“Yes. Also, I’m engaged, so I’m sorry, but we can’t hook up.”

“You’re what?!” Dick, Barb, and Tatiana all yelled at once.

“That’s not the point!” Curt said. “We need to stay focused.” He turned to Owen. “How are you doing?”

“I can’t disarm it.” Owen said, looking up frantically from the bomb. “Von Nazi’s changed the coding too much and it’s impossible to disarm without him or that damn password.”

“So what do we do?” Curt asked, panic edging into his voice for the first time.

“The bomb is unique. It’s a concentrated dark matter bomb, so it can’t operate in a vacuum; it needs solid material in order to give it shape and power. That’s why Von Nazi wanted to set it off in the vault—the blast would have traveled through the core of the planet, consuming the whole thing.”

“That’s a bit dramatic.” Curt said.

“Not the point.” Owen shot back. “The point is that we need to get the bomb isolated in a vacuum. Get it off the planet, but provide it a contained space to detonate and consume.”

Barb snapped her fingers. “A ship! If we can put it on board a shuttle and fly it up into the atmosphere, it can detonate in a small space and keep from spreading.”

“Genius!” Owen said, shooting to his feet. “We need a shuttle!” The timer on the device ticked down to ten minutes.

“The loading docks!” Dick excalimed, pointing at the kitchen. “They’re at the very back of the casino, and there’s bound to be a ship somewhere.”

“Let’s go!” Owen shouted.

They took off running towards the loading docks of the casino, weaving through chairs and tables that had been knocked over by patrons in their panic to evacuate. When they reached the expansive airlock, only one ship was docked and waiting; a large freight ship sat in the corner and provided a hope for success.

“Let’s load it up and send it off!” Curt said, skidding to a halt near the freighter.

Cynthia didn’t hesitate as she threw open the driver side door and looked inside. “There’s no automatic.” She said solemnly, climbing back down again.

“What does that mean?” Curt asked.

“It means,” Tatiana said slowly, “That someone will have to fly the ship out of here.”

Silence stretched over them as the clock ticked down to 7 minutes. They looked at each other wordlessly, wondering who would be the one to go.

“I’ll do it.” Owen said, squaring his shoulders.

“No.” Curt said.

“I’ll do it.” Owen said again, walking over to the door of the freighter.

Curt grabbed his arm. “You can’t do this.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Please don’t do this.”

Owen wouldn’t look at Curt. “I have to.” He whispered back.

Curt put a hand gently on Owen’s cheek, turning his face, and Owen placed a hand on Curt’s chest. Owen looked up slowly, finally meeting Curt’s eyes. Curt swallowed the lump in his throat. “Love… you can’t leave me like this.” Curt pleaded. “I can’t lose you again.” A few lonely tears slipped out and landed on Owen’s hand.

Owen moved his arm and gripped the back of Curt’s neck, pulling their foreheads together. He spoke softly, so that only the two of them could hear. “I love you. But this is my bomb, so it’s my responsibility. I will not kill all of these people.” He paused. “I will not kill you.”

Before Curt could protest again, Owen kissed him passionately, then turned away and climbed into the cab of the freighter. Curt tried to move towards the door, but Tatiana had appeared next to him and placed a firm hand on his shoulder, steering him out of the airlock. Curt watched helplessly as the airlock sealed shut, and the hanger door opened. The freighter sprang to life as Owen started the engine. It lifted off the ground, slowly backed out of the hanger, then took off over the top of Eos.

\-----

As the freighter lifted shakily off the ground, Owen was flipping switches and trying to figure out how to fly the damn thing. He didn’t need to be an expert, he just needed to get it off the ground and above Eos. He backed out of the hanger, refusing to look at Curt as he did. He was doing this for Curt, so that he would be safe. That knowledge didn’t numb the pain, though.

As soon as he was clear of the hanger, Owen yanked the steering wheel and stepped on the gas, lurching upward as he soared over the roof of the casino and towards the front of Eos. The freighter was ancient and moved slowly away from the buildings as Owen climbed higher into the atmosphere. As he started to clear the range of the buildings, he locked the steering wheel in place and searched for something to weigh down the gas pedal. He found a large technical manual on the floor of the passenger side, and dropped the brick of a book on the gas pedal. “At least you’ll be useful for something.” Owen muttered to the manual.

Then, he climbed out of the cab and into the back of the freighter and began to open the cabinet doors. He was hoping to find a bottle of alcohol. If he was going to have his molecules shredded, he should at least have a drink first.

He pulled open all of the cabinets throughout the freighter and found cleaning supplies, maintenance tools, and a weird porn collection, but no booze. Finally, he swung open a pantry door that he hoped would at least have some food. But, no. As he swung open the door, he didn’t find alcohol or snacks. He found something better.

Inside, an old fashioned space suit was hanging neatly on a hanger, it’s fishbowl helmet on a hook beside it.

Owen glanced at the bomb on the floor near the cab. Three minutes. He had time.

Owen quickly began to pull on the space suit, slipping into the orange natrolex material and cinching it tight around his waist. He zipped it up to fit snugly around his neck and shoulders, and made sure that the gloves were on properly. Then, he put the helmet carefully around his head, locking it into place around his neck. He moved as quickly as he could in the material to the front of the cab, where he flipped a switch to open the loading door of the freighter.

As the door rolled open, Owen stood on the edge of the freighter and watched as Eos slowly appeared below him, the rolling expanse of building and shiny metal calling to him. He glanced back as the door finally opened wide enough for him to jump out. Only a few seconds left. It was now or never.

Owen steeled himself for the fall, and as the bomb clicked down to 0, he stepped out into empty space and began to fall.

There was silence. There was fire. And then—there was nothing.

——

“I can’t believe he left.” Curt whispered as the freighter backed shakily out of hanger.

“Six minutes, Curt.” Barb said, a panicked look her eye. “That freighter doesn’t travel very fast, he might not clear the buildings in time.”

“We need to find a window!” Curt yelled out, turning around and pushing through the group of his friends around him.

“Back through the casino!” Dick said. “He’s headed up and over the top of the building, so the windows in the exit tunnel should give us a vantage point!”

They ran. Curt led the way as they sprinted through the back hallways and through the empty casino. The casino patrons had taken shelter at the end of the tunnel, scared and confused, but unable to move forward past the emergency door that had sealed shut accidentally in the panic.

“Mr. Big!” One of the remaining security guards called out. “What is happening?”

Dick pointed at the heist team as they skid to a stop in front of the tunnel’s window. “They’re saving our lives.”

Promoted by curiosity and the need to be close to the supposed “life savers”, the crowd pressed in close. They squished against the window, and Curt felt claustrophobic. But he couldn’t care less—he needed to see Owen.

“Three minutes!” Barb warned, and they scanned the sky for the freighter.

Finally, it came shakily into view over the top of the building.

“C’mon, Owen.” Curt pleaded. “Please. Figure something out.”

“Two minutes!”

Tatiana put a hand on Curt’s shoulder, but he didn’t register it. “Curt?” He ignored her.

“Is he far enough away from the buildings?” Cynthia asked, peering over Barb’s shoulder and up at the sky.

Barb shook her head. “I don’t know. But he’s got thirty seconds.”

A hush fell over the crowd, and they watched as the shaky freighter slowly lumbered further from the planet.

“5.” Barb whispered.

“C’mon, Owen.” Curt balled his fists and whispered. “Do something.”

“4.”

“Curt?”

“3.”

“Maybe you should look away.” He felt a tug on his shoulder.

“2.” Barb gasped.

And light flashed in the sky as a blinding, silent explosion ripped through the space above the planet.

Then, it was gone. As quickly as the light had begun, it was gone, leaving nothing but empty space behind it--not even shrapnel left to indicate that a sacrifice had taken place. There was silence in the hall, and then Curt screamed.

He pounded a fist on the glass as he sank to his knees, the weight of his loss crushing him.

“Oh Curt, I am so sorry.” Tatiana said, dropping to the floor and wrapping him in her arms. “I am so sorry, I am so, so sorry.”

“Give him some space!” Cynthia yelled, muscling people out of the way to form a bubble around Curt.

His chest hurt and his mind felt numb as his body convulsed with soundless tears; he opened his mouth to yell again, but the sound stuck in his throat and threatened to drown him. He took several rasping breaths, trying to catch some sort of grip on reality. The a cold numbness glazed over him, and he sat quietly, feeling himself start to leave the moment and drift away.

“Let’s get him out of here.” Cynthia said, tears brimming in her eyes.

She reached down and Tatiana helped her prop Curt up into a standing position. They began to slowly help him move down the hallway towards the casino.

“Wait!” Barb called out, her face still glued to the window. “What’s that?” She pointed out at the blackness of space to a small speck falling towards the surface of the planet, getting bigger with each second. “Holy shit.” She breathed. “It’s Owen!”

Curt returned to his body in an instant, scrambling to the window and pushing several people out of his way as he pressed against the glass.

And sure enough, falling at a slow and steady pace towards the planet, was Owen. He drifted closer and closer, until he finally hit the ground, bounced three times in the low gravity, and came to rest further down the tunnel.

“We have to get him!” Curt yelled, pulling Tatiana along as he ran down the hall.

“Call the paramedics!” Dick yelled out, and three security guards brought their walkies up to their mouths.

“We have a code 4. All available bodies to Airlock 672. I repeat: code 4. All available medical staff to Airlock 672.”

They raced down the hall, stopping at a nearby airlock and listening to the scramble further down the tunnel as paramedics pulled on their space suits as they ran. Three young men in orange suits practically fell to a stop in front of the airlock, spinning open the first door and sealing themselves inside.

“He’s going to be OK.” Barb said, putting a hand softly on Curt’s arm. “It’ll be OK.”

Curt watched as the paramedics slowly walked across the clay surface of the planet to where Owen lay motionless.

“He’s not moving.” Curt said. “Why isn’t he moving?”

“He’ll be OK.” Tatiana echoed.

“How do you know?”

“He’s Owen. He always bounces back.” Tatiana smiled, and Curt could tell she meant it.

“Hey, Tati?”

“Yeah?”

“I forgive you.”

She softened. “Thank you.”

They stood silently as they watched the paramedics carry Owen back to the airlock, then out into the hall.

Then, there was a flurry of noise and activity as the paramedics yelled back and forth.

“He’s not breathing!”

“Where’s the defibrillator?”

“Jesus, his whole arm is gone.”

“He’s not bleeding at least. That’s a good sign.”

“Clear!”

They shocked Owen, and his whole upper body jumped.

“Please.” Curt whispered.

“Clear!” Another jump.

“Owen, please.”

“Clear!” A third jump.

Nothing.

Several casino patrons were crying silent tears now, holding each other as they watched the man who saved their lives die on the cold metal floor in front of them.

“Try one more time.”

“Clear!”

Owen’s torso jumped again, but he didn’t wake.

“I think he’s gone...”

“No!” Curt said, pushing through the paramedics and landing hard on the floor next to Owen’s body. He pulled Owen up, cradling his head close to his chest. His right arm was torn off just above the elbow, and he was covered in soot. “Please, Owen. Please wake up.” He held his lover and rocked back and forth on the floor. “You’re not allowed to leave me again.” He whispered. “You can’t leave me, Owen.”

Stillness was heavy in the hallway--it hung in the air and suffocated Curt. He stroked Owen’s hard, holding him tightly and rocking him slowly as the crowd wiped tears and watched silently. Tatiana was on the verge of collapse, and Barb was holding her tightly, propping her up and whispering quietly. Cynthia stared blankly at the floor, unmoving in her shock and grief.

Then suddenly, Owen’s body tensed in Curt’s arms, and the other man gasped for air, a rasping sound that, in the moment, Curt wanted to bottle as the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. An audible sigh of relief filled the hallway as Owen scrambled to get his bearings.

“It’s OK, love.” Curt said, helping to steady Owen, tears streaming down his face. “It’s OK. You’re alive. You’re safe.”

Owen blinked for a moment, then began to cough. When he had calmed down, he looked around at the crowd smiling down at him. Then, he looked back at Curt. “This will be a fun story to tell at our wedding.”

Curt laughed, tears of relief mixing with sorrow. “Yeah. It’ll make a great anecdote.”

And with that, Curt leaned forward and kissed Owen.


	22. Epilogue

Curt examined himself in the full length mirror, adjusting his bowtie and rolling his shoulders. They’d unwired his bionic arm shortly after returning to Earth a year ago, but he still had phantom pain in his left shoulder where the scars were.

He was standing in a small, ornate library in a lush mansion on the edge of NYC, the tables pushed together and his clothes and toiletries scattered everywhere. Behind the mirror, large windows revealed a sprawling green lawn stretching for miles, the sun sparkling off of the lake in the distance. It was perfect. So why was he so worked up?

Curt smoothed the lapels of his white tuxedo and checked the lines of his nail polish for the twentieth time. He was filled with jitters and he was torn between the instinct to run and the desire to stay put. He was nervous, but he wanted to do this. And so, he remained rooted to the carpet.

There was a soft knock at the door.

“Come in.” Curt called, and the large oak door creaked open.

“Oh, Curt.” Tatiana said softly, putting a hand to her mouth. “You look lovely.” She was wearing her pink Maid of Honor dress, and it shimmered slightly as she walked. Barb would be wearing a matching one as she stood next to Owen outside on the terrace.

Curt beamed. “You think?” He looked back in the mirror. “Is the bow tie too much?” He pointed to the pink sparkle tie around his neck.

Tatiana smiled. “Not at all. But it is crooked.” She strode over and adjusted his tie, laying a hand on his chest and smiling when she’d finished. “Are you excited?”

“I’m nervous.” He admitted.

“I understand.” Tatiana said. “But today will be a lot of fun. I promise.”

“Curtis? Are you ready?” Mrs. Mega said, pushing open the door to the library. “Oh, Curtis!” She exclaimed, rushing over to her son. “You look so handsome!” She began to fuss with his suit.

“I’ll give you two a moment.” Tatiana said. “I just wanted to say that everyone is ready, so whenever you want to start, just come on out.” She smiled and closed the door behind her, leaving the Megas alone.

“Ma, quit it.” Curt said, laughing as he took her hands in his. “I’ve messed with it enough for both of us.”

Mrs. Mega sighed, then reached up and put a hand on Curt’s cheek. She rubbed her thumb across his skin as her eyes misted over. “You look so much like your father.” She whispered. “But you’ve grown into twice the man he ever was. And you’ve made me so proud.”

Curt closed his eyes and pressed his face into his mother’s touch. “I love you, Ma.” He said. “And I love Owen. So, so much.”

Mrs. Mega smiled. “I know, dear. Now,” She held out her arm for Curt to take. “Let’s go get you married so you can start giving me some grandbabies.”

Curt looped his arm into his mother’s, laughing as she led him out of the library.

\-----

The lights in the ballroom were dimmed, creating a soft glow in the long room, and music pumped loudly out of the speakers. Curt and Owen sat at the head table at the front of the room, sipping champagne from their matching “groom” glasses and surveying the room. The metal of Owen’s prosthetic right arm was hidden well under his black tuxedo, but he occasionally twitched in a way that reminded Curt that he was still getting used to the contraption.

Mrs. Mega was wine drunk, her arms raised high as she swayed rapturously to Africa by Toto. The song was ancient, but it was one of her and Curt’s favorites. Sergio Santos was not drunk, but he was mirroring Mrs. Mega in her adoration of Africa, swaying and singing along. They were the only two people on the dancefloor.

Tatiana was deep in conversation with Sergio’s wife, holding Frederick Santos as the 5 year-old napped on her shoulder while Katya stood at the dessert table, quietly smearing cake on her flower girl dress. Barb was at the table with Tatiana and Carla Santos, drunk out of her mind and eating her third piece of cake. Cynthia was flirting heavily with Curt’s cousin, who looked equal parts terrified and interested. Most of the other guests had been family members and old friends, and they had all slowly trickled out of the party, leaving a sparse crowd of guests that only occasionally found a burst of energy to dance to a song. It was getting late, and the venue employees were starting to clean up.

“What do you think?” Curt asked, spearing a bite of cake onto his fork. “Should we shut the party down and head back to the hotel?”

Owen leaned over and stole the bite of cake. Curt rolled his eyes, but he let it happen. “Yeah, I’m ready to go.” Owen said. “I can’t wait to see those pictures.”

“The one with the champagne spray and sunglasses is going to be so cool.” Curt mused.

“I’m looking forward to the pictures of you walking down the aisle. Your mom’s face was priceless, and I hope they snapped a picture of it.” Owen said.

They looked out at the dance floor again and smiled as Sergio swept Mrs. Mega up and dipped her dramatically.

Owen laughed, then said, “Yeah, we should probably shut  _ that _ shit down and go home.”

“Plus, I can’t wait to get you alone.” Curt put a hand on Owen’s thigh.

Owen picked up another bite of cake. “Oh love, I’m way too tired and a touch too drunk for that tonight.” He licked his fork, teasing Curt as he did. “German chocolate was a great choice, by the way.” He remarked.

“Thanks.” Curt said, not removing his hand on Owen’s leg as he leaned in to kiss his husband. Owen kissed him back, putting the fork down and raising a hand to Curt’s face. The cool metal of his wedding band pressed into Curt’s cheek, and the other man smiled into the kiss.

They pulled away just as Dick Big approached their table, three shot glasses of tequila in hand. “Many happy returns, boys!” He set the glasses on the table, but didn’t make a move to drink one. “I know y’all’re busy enjoying your special day and all, and thanks so much for inviting me to the celebration, but I have a proposition for you. I know you’re thinking about getting out of the game; settling down and all that. But, I have a job for you. One for the road, if you like.”

Curt leaned forward in his chair. “What’s the job?”

“It’s a little classified, so I can’t tell you here...” Dick said, picking up one of the shot glasses. “But how does a 2.5 million credit payday sound?”

Curt and Owen looked at each other, silently reading what the other wanted. Then, they each picked up a shot glass, and the three men knocked back the alcohol with ease.

“Well,” Curt said, a mischievous glint in his eye as he took his husband’s hand. “Somebody’s gotta do it.”

Owen agreed. “So it might as well be us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading. It's been an honor and a pleasure.

**Author's Note:**

> For more information on the fic, message me on Tumblr @abuginahumanbody . Please leave a comment!


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